


Borrow My Heart

by useyourtelescope



Series: Borrow My Heart [1]
Category: Sanditon (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Regency Romance, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourtelescope/pseuds/useyourtelescope
Summary: Tired of her family’s endeavours to marry her off, Charlotte convinces her friend the architect Mr. Stringer to act as her betrothed for a few months so she can have some breathing room.However, as they start spending more time together, Charlotte finds she quite likes playing the role of Mr. Stringer’s fiancée. Perhaps a little too much...
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/James Stringer
Series: Borrow My Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861342
Comments: 161
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **sanditoncreative** _6 sanditon valentines_ event on tumblr. The day 6 prompt was free choice; I chose fake relationship because that's my jam and regency!fake relationship just makes it more fun.  
> I had wanted to post it completed as a long one-shot, but other things got in the way of finishing it off so we're doing chapters!
> 
> The canon divergence in this fic is that the Stringers were never in Sanditon during the show timeline, but everything else played out the same.

It was a chilly afternoon in Bath, though that was not the reason Charlotte Heywood currently paced up and down the front parlour. She had been impatient all morning, waiting for her guest to arrive, her nerves only growing once her sister and the rest of the family had gone out.

In many ways the scene resembled an afternoon a few short months ago when Charlotte had also arranged things so that she would be able to receive a guest in the Golding family home without interruption. In contrast, however, that day she had felt sure of herself. She had been confident in what she had been about to propose to Mr. Stringer, completely unaware of what a mess she would make. She could only hope today’s guest would help her decide what to do next.

“Lady Susan!” Charlotte said warmly when the lady was finally shown into the parlour. “How glad I am to see you!” She darted across the room to greet her friend.

Having already removed her bonnet and gloves in the hall, Lady Susan leant to kiss her cheek. “As am I, dear Charlotte; why it has been almost a year since you were with me in London.”

“Only eight months,” Charlotte corrected as she guided Lady Susan to the chaise.

“Anything longer than six months might as well be a full year,” she said, taking a seat. “Especially when you insisted you would return to London in four at the most.”

Charlotte nodded in acknowledgement of this broken promise before offering her friend tea. She had left Lady Susan’s home in London to return to her family in Willingdon for two months. From there, she had headed to Bath, intending to stay with her sister for only a month or so before returning to London. “I know, but as I said in my letters, Olivia needed help with the children. Harry really was very ill for a while.”

“And I could easily have forgiven you for being such a devoted aunt if you had not gotten engaged just as young Harry had recovered. And to a man I have never even met! After all the eligible bachelors I introduced you to in London, you had to align yourself with one who resides in Bath,” Lady Susan finished disapprovingly.

Charlotte did not respond, twisting her fingers in her lap instead.

Lady Susan eyed her from above the rim of her teacup. “I am only jesting, my dear,” she said, misunderstanding Charlotte’s sudden sombre turn. “From what you have said in your letters, I am sure I will like your Mr. Stringer, even if he is taking my favourite companion from me forever.”

Charlotte attempted a laugh, but it was unmistakeably tense.

“Charlotte, is something wrong?” Lady Susan wondered, her eyes alight with intrigue. “Perhaps you are angry with Mr. Stringer?”

“Oh no,” Charlotte said hurriedly. “Indeed, I don’t know how anyone could be. Why, he is truly the kindest, most generous man of my acquaintance.”

Lady Susan raised her eyebrows. “I see. How fortunate then to be betrothed to such a man.”

“Yes,” came Charlotte’s strained response. “Only…”

“Yes?” Lady Susan prompted.

Charlotte cleared her throat, preparing herself for her confession. She had been relieved when Lady Susan wrote of her intention to visit Bath, and had written to her immediately on her arrival yesterday to arrange this visit, solely to unburden herself. But now the time came, the task seemed quite difficult. “Well, you see – the thing is, he is not, in fact, _my_ Mr. Stringer,” Charlotte said finally, looking at the floor.

“I don’t follow.”

“Our engagement is…” Although Charlotte had ensured they would be alone in her sister’s house, she could not stop her eyes from darting to the closed door before she whispered, “ _pretend_.”

Lady Susan put her teacup down. “Pretend how?”

“We never had any intention of getting married. That was why we never put an announcement in the papers,” Charlotte explained. “You know how my mama and papa have been unhappy that I’ve remained unmarried.”

“So,” Lady Susan said, the wheels clearly turning in her head, “you thought to fake an engagement so that your mama would not be able to keep sending suitors your way?”

“That’s about the size of it, yes.”

Lady Susan’s lips pursed as she took this in.

“Are you angry with me?” Charlotte wondered. “Olivia was.”

Lady Susan shook her head. “If I were angry about anything, it would be that Olivia knew the truth before me – I know she is your sister Charlotte, but she is not the kind of girl who can assist a scheme such as this.”

Charlotte let out a laugh at that. “I would have liked to tell you the truth, but I dared not write it in a letter.”

“No, I suppose not. But, truly, I am impressed. I didn’t know you had such a scheme in you, Charlotte. Though I wonder how you intend to end the engagement.”

“That is why I need your help.”

“Mr. Stringer has been in on the scheme, I assume?” When Charlotte nodded, Lady Susan continued, “And neither of you had a plan on how to bring the engagement to a close?”

“We did have a plan, only – “ She sighed and hung her head. “Oh, Lady Susan, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I think you better start from the beginning.”

* * *

It was hard for Charlotte to fix on the hour or even the day the idea for a fake engagement first came into her head. All she knew was that once she had thought of it, she could only see how perfectly it would suit her situation. It had not taken her long to decide that Mr. Stringer would be the ideal candidate for her temporary betrothed either.

Although she had met a number of unmarried men while in Bath, the list of those whose company she enjoyed rather than tolerated was small, and it would have to be someone she liked well enough to be convincing. Mr. Stringer had the advantage of being both at the top of that list, and also someone who might benefit from the scheme himself.

They had become acquainted during her first week in Bath. As a friend of her brother-in-law’s, Mr. Stringer had been invited to the small dinner party Olivia and Robert had hosted to welcome her. Robert’s easy disposition was remarkably well-balanced by Olivia’s more measured attitude, so Charlotte had been unsurprised to find the friends they had gathered were all very pleasant company. Mr. Stringer had been sat on the other end of the table to her, but she had been intrigued by what she had overheard him discuss of his work as an architect and sought him out after dinner, which had resulted in a very engaging discussion on architecture and more besides.

They had fallen into conversation most naturally whenever they met since, which Charlotte thought would go some way to convincing people of their engagement. They never seemed to be short on topics to discuss, with no uncomfortable silences – at least, not until the afternoon that she put forth her proposal to him.

“I’m afraid I have shocked you, Mr. Stringer,” Charlotte said cautiously when he didn’t respond.

He blinked away the surprise evident on his face, straightening against the chaise. “A little,” he admitted. “I must confess, when your message said you needed a favour from me, the last thing I expected you to require was a fake fiancé.”

“I know,” she replied, looking suitably contrite, “but I did not think it was the kind of proposal one could put in a note.”

“No, I suppose not,” Mr. Stringer said with a laugh that went some way to relieving Charlotte’s concern he might bolt.

“And don’t you agree that an attachment to me might help you with obtaining the investments you need?”

“I’m sure it will,” he conceded. “But that is surely not your only reason for suggesting it. Though I do know you to have a generous spirit, Miss Heywood, I can’t imagine you have devised such a scheme solely for _my_ benefit.”

“No,” Charlotte said, pleased that the teasing lilt had returned to his voice. “My parents are intent on seeing me married. Even all the way from Willingdon Mama manages to track down suitors for me. You recall Mr. Whitfield who was at the concert last week?”

“I do. He seemed very…attentive to you.”

“He is unfortunately one of many tiresome suitors Mama has sent my way,” Charlotte replied with a sour face, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.

Mr. Stringer sobered before adding, “I can understand your feelings of frustration at the pressure from your family, but are you sure _this_ is the solution? A pretend engagement?”

“I can’t think what else to try.”

“Are you not concerned you might meet someone you want to marry while we are pretending to be betrothed?”

Having gone years without meeting a second man to make her think of marriage, Charlotte did not think this was a pressing concern. But even if it was, “I hardly think our engagement will last long enough for it to be a problem. Of course, you would not be free to court anyone during that time either, but I hoped you would not mind that if it meant you could obtain the funding you need. Do you think two or three months might be enough?”

“Yes, possibly. I hope so.”

“And you wouldn’t mind?” Charlotte asked, reminding him of her earlier question.

“Err, no. I am rather too busy for courting at the moment.” He seemed almost embarrassed by the question, but she felt he was telling the truth. “But it does seem an unnecessarily complicated scheme.”

“Is that your only objection?”

Mr. Stringer thought on this for a while, during which time Charlotte tried very hard to sit still and let him quietly consider her proposal. She’d had plenty of time to think it over already, it was only fair he be allowed to do the same, no matter how much she wanted an answer. The slight upturn of his lips suggested that her fidgeting in her seat had not gone entirely unnoticed, but Mr. Stringer looked amused rather than annoyed by it. And she could not worry about it once he finally announced that he was willing to play the role she required of him.

“You will?” she exclaimed. “Oh, thank you!”

“But,” he said quickly, before her smile could completely overtake her face, “I think we will have to make certain a few details first. We don’t even know if your parents will approve of the match.”

“Oh, I am sure they will,” came Charlotte’s immediate response. “There is nothing to worry about there.”

“They really are keen to see you married then,” he said with a wry smile.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it in that way,” Charlotte rushed to add. “They are not so desperate they would consent to my marrying just anyone.” In truth, she imagined her papa would be so relieved to hear his eldest child had finally accepted a proposal he likely wouldn’t refuse his consent unless he thought her choice most unsavoury, but she did not want Mr. Stringer to think that. Besides, the larger reason for her confidence was this: “Papa has already heard your name spoken of most highly in letters I’ve sent home, and ones Olivia sent home before me. And you are good friends with Robert, who he likes very much, so he would have no reason to refuse his consent.”

“Oh. I see.” Mr. Stringer’s cheeks flushed slightly at this remark, so Charlotte thought it best to forge ahead.

“But I do agree there are some details we need to decide on before we tell anyone. After all, we will need to start behaving more affectionately if people are to believe we are truly going to be married.”

He nodded. “What do you suggest?”

“I thought the easiest way would be to begin calling each other by our Christian names. That way we will not have to be overly physically affectionate to suggest we are on more intimate terms. If you don’t mind,” she added when he did not seem convinced.

“I don’t mind. I only think…” he paused and glanced away from her, a slightly uncomfortable look on his face. “Surely it would not seem believable for a new couple to not be physically affectionate at all? I don’t mean anything inappropriate, of course, but – Say, if you were really engaged, do you think you would choose to sit over there instead of nearer your fiancé?”

Charlotte considered her seat, chosen by accident, but one of the farthest possible chairs away from him. “No, I suppose you are right.”

She moved and sat next to him on the chaise.

“I did not mean you had to change seats while we are alone.”

“But we should practice.”

“Practice how to sit?”

“How to sit comfortably.” It was not something she thought they would need instruction in, but Mr. Stringer suddenly looked very stiff. “You cannot make that face whenever I sit near you or anyone would wonder why you proposed.”

That made him laugh, which returned his natural, more relaxed composure.

“I _could_ tell them that you proposed,” he teased. “I’m sure some of our acquaintance would believe me.”

“I’m sure they would,” Charlotte agreed with a smile, “but I would prefer if that was not the story we told.”

“Of course.”

“Also, we will need to see each other more regularly than we do now. I do not wish to disrupt your schedule entirely, but if you are to get the investments you need, we’ll need to be seen together a lot more.”

“That’s true. I should be able to attend a few more social gatherings than I normally do. And perhaps you could visit me at work occasionally,” he suggested.

“Oh, yes, I would like that,” Charlotte said eagerly, for though she had been able to visit and admire some of his completed projects, she had not yet visited the site he was working on presently.

“And I could write letters to you? If we have to go some time without meeting.”

“Yes, that is a good idea, for Robert would wonder at it. Though I thought I might tell Olivia the truth.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought this to be something Mrs. Golding would approve of.”

“Possibly not, but she is my sister and I would like to take her into my confidence. I won’t tell anyone else – though you should tell someone too if you like.”

Mr. Stringer seemed to consider this only momentarily before saying he would keep it to himself.

Their discussion continued similarly as they decided how they would conduct themselves over the coming weeks, as well as crafted the finer details of the story they would tell everyone else. This passed the time until Mr. Stringer had to leave for a meeting very quickly, but before he could say goodbye Charlotte remembered one final thing.

“Oh, and whenever there is dancing, we will have to stand up together,” Charlotte said. She did not think this would be a hardship though, for he had always asked her to dance at least once before.

“And I will say I can dance with no one but my betrothed,” he said teasingly.

“No, you must never do that,” Charlotte insisted. “I can’t stand when people do that.”

“No? Are you not a romantic then, Miss Heywood?”

“Couples who will only dance with no one but each other are not doing so out of romance, but for attention.”

“Attention?”

“Yes!” she cried. “I am convinced they only do it so that people to talk about how in love they are. It is very inappropriate to monopolise one’s partner so, especially when there are often ladies who don’t get asked to dance at all. No, Mr. Stringer, we must always appear to be just fond enough of each other that we decided to get married, but never too fond.”

“To help when we announce we won’t be getting married after all.”

“Exactly.”

After Mr. Stringer took his leave, Charlotte spent the rest of the day full of high spirits and was eager for night to fall so she could tell the whole plan to her sister. She was happy that he had agreed to her plan so soon.

Her sister was not so easily convinced.

“Don’t you see Olivia,” Charlotte said, as she tried once more to explain the scheme. “It is so unfair that, despite all Mr. Stringer’s success as an architect, some people still look down on him simply for being the son of a stonemason. If he is attached to the daughter of a gentleman, then it will be much easier for him to obtain the investments he needs to complete his current project.”

“And he said all this to you when he proposed?” Olivia replied, frowning. “That does not sound much like him.”

“Well, no, I explained it to him, but he agreed.”

“Charlotte,” Olivia said with horror on her face, “you do not mean to say that _you_ proposed to _him_.”

“There was no proposal!” Charlotte exclaimed, before immediately regretting raising her voice. The sisters were in Charlotte’s guest room, which was not far from where the children were sleeping and she did not want any disturbances until they had finished their conversation.

“No, I know you used the word proposal,” Olivia argued, “for I was excited to hear it.”

“Not that kind of proposal!” Charlotte snapped. “I already said it is not a real engagement!”

“I don’t understand,” Olivia said with a pout. Now that she was a married woman and mother to two young children there were times Olivia acted like she was much older and wiser than Charlotte, but when she pouted so sullenly she looked every bit Charlotte’s younger sister.

“It is only temporary,” Charlotte said for what she was sure was the second time.

“A _temporary_ engagement?”

“Just long enough for Mr. Stringer to obtain the investments he needs. Then, I will cry off and Mama will have to wait a while before she can try to find another match for me. You know what Mama and Papa have been like about me getting married, especially this last year,” Charlotte added, when she could see her sister was inclined to argue.

“But you are five-and-twenty now, Charlotte.”

“Yes, that is exactly what Mama sounds like when she says it.”

“ _Charlotte_ ,” Olivia admonished. “Do you mean to say you have no intention of ever being married?”

“No,” she replied easily. “I believe I still would like to someday.”

“Then why can you not simply marry Mr. Stringer?” Olivia asked. “He has been such a friend to Robert and me – and to you since you have been with us in Bath.” Before Charlotte could interject, Olivia continued, “He is a good man, and I’m sure he would make a good husband. And think how nice it would be for you to always be near us, and for our husbands to be friends.”

“He is a good man,” Charlotte agreed, “and I like him very well, but we are not in love. And I will not marry for anything less.”

Olivia, who had never been as much of a romantic as her sister, sighed at this. “Do not be foolish, Charlotte. Love is not always as dramatic as your books make it out to be. Take Robert and I, for instance.”

“I thought you did love him.”

“I do. Very much. But I did not realise I was in love with him because he rescued me from bandits or carried me to safety in a storm or some such nonsense.”

“I don’t require _such_ extremes,” Charlotte defended herself, even if she did enjoy reading about them. “But do tell me how you knew,” she added with anticipation. Charlotte had not been present during any of their courtship, it having taken place when Olivia visited a childhood friend who had settled in Bath, and she had not heard this story before.

“It was the first time we kissed,” Olivia said, a girlish smile spreading across her face. “I already knew I liked him very much,” she added quickly, “or I would not have allowed him to kiss me, but I only realised I loved him when he bent down to kiss me and stopped to remove my bonnet most carefully first. Only _then_ did he kiss me.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows at her sister, most unimpressed with this tale. “ _That_ was what made you realise you loved him?”

“It was my favourite bonnet,” Olivia explained, frowning at her sister’s dispirited reaction. “The one with the pink ribbon. I would not want it damaged just for one kiss.”

Charlotte, who thought she would much prefer a husband to be overcome with passion for her than spare a thought for a bonnet that could easily be replaced, decided not to comment on this.

“Well, at any rate, it is all decided. I already wrote to Papa before dinner. Once he has replied, we will start telling people.”

“But how do you intend to put off the wedding? Mama will want to start preparing immediately.”

“Ah,” Charlotte said, eyes sparkling as she had already thought of this, “I’ve told Papa that we cannot even start to think about wedding preparations until Mr. Stringer’s current project is completed. And we will have broken our engagement long before that.”

Olivia’s lips thinned. “I see.”

“Olivia,” Charlotte said in a conciliatory tone, “I know you are displeased, but you do promise not to tell anyone the truth, don’t you? Not even Robert?”

“I will not tell,” Olivia said, pouting again. “But I am not happy about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I've done a little edit for this fic [here on my tumblr](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/190935864328/borrow-my-heart-sanditon-fanfiction-charlotte).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented/kudos'd/subscribed 💗

Let it not be supposed that Mr. Heywood was so eager to see his daughter wed that he did not give a moment’s consideration to her choice of husband. However, a moment was all it took for him to recall that at five and twenty Charlotte was not likely to receive an offer from even a second son of a gentleman and, after all, an architect was quite a respectable career.

Charlotte was in the nursery when her father’s letter conveying his consent arrived, but as soon as she was able she took to the writing desk in the front parlour to inform her intended of the good news.

She hesitated over the beginning of her letter, though it was not owing to a change of heart. No, Charlotte’s only dilemma was her form of address. When she had written asking Mr. Stringer to visit her to present her plan, she had addressed her letter to _Sir ,_ but that would not suit a letter written to one’s fiancé. They had already agreed that their letters must be believable, in the event they were seen by anyone else, but writing to him in the flowery style of a lover did not feel right either. She had not yet called him James in person, to begin a letter _My dear James_ felt too forward.

Charlotte settled on writing as she did to many close friends, without address, as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

_My father says he is very happy to consent to our marriage and offers his congratulations._

She stopped and studied this. Her father’s letter had indeed been enthusiastic in his approbation of the marriage, but perhaps she should not share that in case it solicited any guilt in Mr. Stringer at their deception. Of course, if anyone should feel guilty in this case, it was Charlotte for deliberately lying to her family.

Her sense of guilt, however, was abated by the note from her mother which had accompanied her father’s letter. Mrs. Heywood too offered her congratulations but complained most vehemently at Charlotte’s indication that the wedding was not to take place for some months yet. Surely Mr. Stringer, having been so taken by their Charlotte as to make his intentions known, could find the time in the next month, or two at the most, for a wedding. A bridal tour could easily be put off until his work eased, her mother had written, but Charlotte should not let that be an excuse for not securing the union.

It was that which had irked Charlotte the most; the notion that she must _secure_ him before it was too late.

Putting her annoyance aside, Charlotte decided that her phrasing to Mr. Stringer was just as it ought to be under the complicated circumstances – for a true fiancée would write something much more jubilant, at any rate. She continued her letter in the same style, suggesting that they tell their family and friends in Bath the following morning so that the news would have spread before the concert they already had plans to attend that evening.

They had not had an opportunity to meet in the days that had passed since Charlotte had presented Mr. Stringer with her proposal, but his response to her letter, which arrived shortly before she went to bed, showed no signs that he had changed his mind. He agreed easily to her plan, which meant Charlotte could begin by announcing the news to her brother-in-law the following morning.

She gave Robert the news at the breakfast table and though he initially showed some surprise at the hitherto unnoticed attachment between two people he saw so regularly, it was not long before he was declared it an excellent match that gave him much happiness. Charlotte would have been concerned by his warm effusion, except that alone helped to shield him from his wife’s more lukewarm response. Olivia only managed a tight-lipped smile and mild congratulations as she buttered her toast, which would hardly have gone unnoticed by Robert if he had not been preoccupied with a sudden belief that he had helped bring about the match.

However, Charlotte did not have an opportunity to chasten her sister, for they were soon obliged to spend most of the day in separate areas of the house. David, the youngest in the Golding family, felt unwell and since Harry was still not fully recovered from his recent illness, his mother did not want to risk him catching anything else. Thus, Charlotte spent her day keeping Harry entertained far away from his brother, who was being cared for by Olivia and the servants. This was no great chore for Charlotte as she loved her nephews dearly, but it did prevent her from visiting the Pump Room as she had intended to start circulating the news of the engagement. At least she knew Mr. Stringer would do some of that work, as likely would Robert, even if he didn’t deliberately mean to.

Though not in high spirits, David was well enough by the evening for both his mother and aunt to still attend the concert, but it did not leave Olivia much time to change. Thus, it was Charlotte alone who descended the staircase in her favourite blue muslin when Mr. Stringer was shown into the house by their butler.

“Good evening, Miss Heywood,” he called up to her.

“Good evening,” she replied, returning his smile as she came to a stop a few feet in front of him. She waited until the butler was out of sight to remind him in a whisper, “Charlotte.”

He nodded swiftly. “Of course. My apologies.”

His smile seemed less bright than usual. “You are not having second thoughts, are you?” she asked, her voice still low, lest a servant might walk past. It had been Robert’s suggestion after breakfast that Mr. Stringer join their carriage for the evening, and Charlotte was glad for it now he appeared to need mollifying before their first public appearance.

“Not at all.” His response was firmly delivered, though it was belied somewhat by the way he tugged at his cravat. “Are you?” he asked, suddenly, his brows raising.

“No,” Charlotte said easily. “Only you seem rather like a horse about to bolt.”

He laughed, his eyes darting to the floor before returning to hers. “I suppose I am a little nervous,” he admitted. “I hope I shall be a convincing fiancé.”

“I am sure you will do admirably. You only need to appear as if you like me,” Charlotte reminded him with a twinkle in her eye.

His responding laugh was full of warmth and amusement. “I think I can manage that.”

She lifted a gloved hand, intending to squeeze his in what she hoped would be a reassuring gesture. To her surprise, Mr. Stringer took her hand and bowed over it.

“Perhaps not that much,” Charlotte said, unable to help a faint blush as she felt his lips brush over her knuckles through the thin fabric.

It happened that this was the moment Mr. and Mrs. Golding chose to join them, leading Robert to comment he should have noticed the affection between the pair before.

As their hands returned to their sides, Robert gave his hearty congratulations to his friend for securing the heart of Miss Heywood; then, in realising his due to Mr. Stringer, praised Charlotte on having drawn the attention of a man he knew as being too ambitious to pay particular attention to the ladies.

Indeed, now that he thought about it, Robert could not decide who had fared better in the match, and so continued to compliment them both even as the carriage set off for the concert. Though kindly intended, Charlotte soon grew tired of Robert’s speeches, and she was silently pleased when Mr. Stringer managed to direct his friend’s thoughts elsewhere by asking about his work. The men chatted easily, but though they endeavoured to include the women, it was mainly Charlotte who responded. Olivia graced them with some speech if directly called upon to answer, but generally did not seem much inclined to join the conversation, and Charlotte could not help but note her sister’s reserved manners towards Mr. Stringer in particular.

Once they had alighted from the carriage, Charlotte took Olivia aside at the earliest opportunity, so they could talk alone before joining the crowd.

“Olivia,” Charlotte said quietly, “you promised that you would not give away our secret.”

“I have no intention of giving it away,” Olivia whispered back.

“Then can you not look so haughtily at poor Mr. Stringer.”

“I was not _haughty_.” At Charlotte’s look, stern even under the dim light in the alcove, Olivia continued, “But really, I do think differently of him knowing he has agreed to such a scheme. I always thought him so sensible. And look at Robert, so overjoyed for you both.”

“But as there will not be any heartbreak on either side when we break our engagement, I am sure Robert will be perfectly happy,” Charlotte tried to reason.

Olivia pursed her lips. “I know everyone thinks of Robert as an easy, cheerful man. But he cares very deeply about all his friends. And when he knows the truth –“

“He will not have to know the _truth_ ,” Charlotte reminded her sister.

“Not the real truth then, but – when you have cried off,” she finished, thankfully still keeping her voice low. “I do think it will upset him.”

Charlotte softened a little. It was hard to rebuke her sister for being concerned for her husband. “I promise I will do everything to make it as painless as possible when that time comes. But, until then, I do need you to act just a little happier for your dear sister on her engagement.”

Olivia sighed. “I suppose.”

“And you will not harbour any ill-feeling towards Mr. Stringer for his involvement in my scheme?” Charlotte added. “For the far greater portion of the blame must fall to me.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.”

The men were waiting for them to join the crowd, and Charlotte was glad when Olivia approached Mr. Stringer with a gentle smile, saying to him, “Mr. Stringer, I believe I have been very remiss in letting Robert offer you all the congratulations and not extending them myself.”

She was less glad when Olivia continued, “Even if I must wonder at your good sense in accepting my sister.”

Mr. Stringer choked on air, before valiantly trying to turn it into a cough. Robert, on the other hand, laughed heartily at his wife’s joke.

Charlotte felt she did well to keep her composure, and only say in a measured tone, “ _Olivia_.”

Olivia continued smiling, though Charlotte alone detected the edge to it.

“Come, Robert,” Olivia said, taking her husband’s arm. “We must make way for the happy couple.”

“Quite right, dear,” Robert replied.

As much as Charlotte would have liked to glare at her sister’s retreating back, she put on her best smile as she took Mr. Stringer’s arm so they could follow the Goldings in.

He leant down to whisper in her ear, “I did say she wouldn’t approve,”

“I hope you will allow me to know my sister at least as well as you do,” Charlotte whispered back. “I did not think she would _approve_ either.” But she had not thought Olivia would make such a comment. She would have to carefully consider how much she involved her in the scheme in the future.

“Should I be worried?”

“No, she will not cause trouble,” Charlotte said with a show of confidence. “She only wants to vex me. It has always been our way.”

“I see. There are times I wish I had a sibling,” Mr. Stringer observed wryly. “Tonight is not one of them.”

Charlotte let out a laugh at that, which helpfully adorned her face with genuine delight just before they were approached by the first of many well-wishers.

Despite making light of it to Mr. Stringer, Charlotte was vexed enough to feel her performance as the happy fiancée was affected, at least for the first few interactions. However, she need not have worried. The fact that Mr. Stringer and Miss Heywood entered the main room whispering in each other’s ears was more than enough to set the rumour mill alight. It was undecided by the general company whether this intimacy was romantic or proud, but, at any rate, it seemed perfectly in keeping with their newly betrothed status.

Although it soon became clear that the evening was a success, with at least two wealthy gentlemen seeming interested in investing in Mr. Stringer’s building, Charlotte felt she had reason to fear for her performance only two nights later when she alighted from Mr. Stringer’s carriage in front of his home.

Convincing a few friends and many acquaintances of their attachment was very different from family.

Mr. Stringer had informed her on the night of the concert that his father insisted on inviting her for dinner. Although he offered to put the meeting off, Charlotte had not thought that wise, for it would appear very neglectful of her not to pay her respects to her fiancé’s father.

She had only met the man once, for he couldn’t leave the house often due to an old injury on his leg, but they had shared a pleasant conversation. Still, as she was let into the house Charlotte was very aware that she wanted to make a good impression, even though she was not truly going to be his daughter-in-law. Then again, surely it would be worse if she made a bad impression, for they had to continue this charade for months and who would believe a man as close to his father as Mr. Stringer was would want to marry a girl he didn’t approve of? Or, perhaps she should make a bad impression, to help lay the foundation for the eventual severing of their engagement?

Thankfully, those complicated thoughts did not prevent her from having a pleasant evening. The elder Mr. Stringer asked after Charlotte and her family, seemingly with genuine interest, nodding approvingly when she talked of her father’s farm.

They had just begun the main course when he asked what Charlotte thought of the building Mr. Stringer was lately working on.

“I have not seen it,” Charlotte replied. “Though I would like to very much.”

“What, you’ve not shown her round yet?”

“There is not much to see yet,” Mr. Stringer told his father pointedly. It was with a gentler tone that he added to Charlotte, looking across the table at her, “But you are very welcome to visit.”

“As long as it would not disrupt your day.”

This response was delivered to her fiancé, but it was his father who replied, “Of course not. He’s already designed the thing, what can there be to disrupt.” It was said with good humour, but Charlotte suspected it was not received as such, from the frown that flickered over her fiancé’s face.

He did not comment on it, however, instead directing his response to her with a smile once more, “Perhaps you could come one day this week.”

Charlotte smiled. “I have no engagements tomorrow afternoon if that would suit.”

“Yes, I think tomorrow afternoon would do very well.”

Before Charlotte could ask for more details about the project, a manservant entered with a note for Mr. Stringer.

“I hope everything is alright,” Charlotte said, noticing the crease in his brow as he skimmed the message.

“Yes, it is only about a delivery we expected on Tuesday.” He shot her a smile as he put the note in his pocket, but she thought he seemed troubled as he returned to his dinner.

“If you need to respond,” Charlotte said, “you need not delay on my account.”

“Thank you, but it can wait until after dinner,” he said, his smile this time seeming more genuine.

“Do not encourage him, Miss Heywood. Young’un doesn’t need any prompting to spend all his time at his desk. Speaking of,” old Mr. Stringer said to Charlotte, looking very grave indeed, “what’s this I’ve been told about a long engagement.”

Charlotte laughed as Mr. Stringer looked over at his father, now shaking his head with a weary smile.

“As I said before, Father, we will start planning the wedding after the works are completed.”

He scoffed. “After last time, I can’t see why you care to wait.”

Charlotte looked up curiously at this comment, but her fiancé had his eyes fixed firmly on his plate.

His father continued, looking back at Charlotte, “Surely, you are not happy about this, Miss Heywood. I’m sure if anyone can convince him it will be you,” he added, encouragingly.

“I agree with M – James,” Charlotte corrected herself just in time, noting with some embarrassment that it sounded rather like she had said “ _my_ James,” which was far too intimate for their situation, even though it made his father smile. Perhaps because it made his father smile. The man would not look at her so fondly when she cried off from her engagement to his son, even if they had already agreed they would not act unfriendly. “There is no need to rush,” she said brightly. “For now, James must focus all his attention on work and then we can plan the wedding after.”

“Exactly so,” Mr. Stringer agreed.

His father did not. “How long can it take to plan a wedding? No need for a fancy affair.”

Charlotte met her fiancé’s eyes as he gave her an apologetic look before asking after her favourite spots in Bath. They had talked along similar lines before, but this was clearly calculated to draw his father into this safer subject, for he had plenty of knowledge to share about these locations.

She thought they had escaped discussion of the wedding, as the rest of their conversation led elsewhere, Charlotte inquiring after his work as a former stonemason when they retired to the drawing-room. However, when the night came to an end it seemed the old man could not resist mentioning it one final time.

He wished Charlotte goodnight while a manservant helped him up from his armchair before adding, “You will have to come again soon. Especially since we will have to wait some time before you are permanently situated with us.”

Charlotte gave what she hoped was the smile of a pleasant, understanding fiancée. “I would be happy to.”

“Or better yet, convince young’un to buy a special license and have done with it.”

“Father,” Mr. Stringer said warningly.

He held his hands up to show he was duly chastened, but this was not conducive to his balance and his next step was far less steady than the last.

Mr. Stringer stood abruptly to assist, but his father declined the additional help, and it was somewhat awkwardly that the man was escorted out the door.

With a glance from the doorway back to Charlotte, he said, “If you don’t mind, I will see he makes it upstairs safely.”

“Of course,” Charlotte said understandingly.

She was soon left alone in the drawing-room, and it did not take long for Charlotte to reflect on her folly.

She had thought of herself in her great scheme, and how it would enable her to do a service to a friend. She knew her family, her parents in particular, would be disappointed when her engagement came to nought, but she did not think the disappointment would be severe or long-lasting. All Olivia’s complaints had not had the same effect as seeing Mr. Stringer with his father had: she felt guilty.

Charlotte tried to distract herself from this unwelcome feeling by studying the room. This was her first visit to the Stringers house and though she had not given much thought previously to what it might look like, she could not say the home resembled what she expected of an architect.

Perhaps that was too harsh. It was elegant and comfortable, but it was not what she expected of Mr. Stringer. She knew he had not built the house himself, but she had seen enough of his projects to believe she had a sense of the styles he liked, and she had seen many features that did not seem to suit him.

Her eyes were drawn to the cornice, albeit not from pleasure. The gaudiness of the intricate style was very much at odds with some of the homelier touches in the room.

“You don’t like it?”

Charlotte turned her head sharply to find Mr. Stringer standing in the doorway. His gaze flickered from the ceiling and back to her again.

“No – that is, it is very grand,” Charlotte began, not wanting to give offence.

“It is not to my taste either,” Mr. Stringer admitted, crossing the room to sit opposite her. “The work is first-rate, though I never understood the desire to put such detail into a feature no one looks at. Well,” he added with a smile, “almost no one.”

Charlotte laughed. “I did tell you I was interested in architecture.”

“That you did.”

Charlotte tried to ask after his father just as Mr. Stringer began to speak, so they both stopped and asked the other to go first. When Mr. Stringer insisted, Charlotte repeated her query.

Mr. Stringer assured her he had settled upstairs before adding, “I am sorry about his remarks on the wedding; I had asked him not to repeat them to you, but he is one to speak his mind.”

“It is quite alright. My parents said much the same when they wrote.” Charlotte hesitated. “I feel I should apologise for drawing you into my ruse.”

Mr. Stringer shook his head. “I agreed to your terms. And they did not include regularly dining here.”

“But I would be happy to,” Charlotte said, insisting it would reflect badly on her if she did not visit when he tried to argue. He eventually relented, promising that he would endeavour to keep his father’s inquiries on the wedding to a minimum.

Charlotte bit her lip as she studied him. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“As my fake fiancée, I think that is allowed.”

Charlotte laughed as his eyes were teasing, but she was serious when she asked, “What did your father mean earlier? When he spoke of a ‘last time’…” Charlotte let this hang in the air, while Mr. Stringer turned his gaze to the fire. “If you don’t wish to tell me –“

“No, it’s fine.”

“Were you engaged once before?”

“No, uh, not engaged. But…there was someone I had hoped to propose to,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “A Miss Reid.”

“What happened?”

“We both cared for each other, but her family’s circumstances were such that she could not marry someone without any fortune. This was a long time ago when I was still a builder. I had hoped she might wait – that once I became an architect, I would be in a position to offer for her – but she was not able to. She was married before I had even completed my apprenticeship.” He was smiling as he finished his story, but it was tinged with sadness that could not fail to touch her heart, both on its own merit and from its unfortunate similarities to the heartbreak she had suffered from years ago.

“I am so sorry.” She reached out and squeezed Mr. Stringer’s wrist. “I’m afraid I know only too well how matters of money can come before matters of the heart.”

He met her gaze fully for the first time since she had begun this line of inquiry and his eyes appeared very soft. “You do?”

Charlotte nodded. “It was a long time ago now,” she said, smiling to show him she was not upset. After a moment she added, “I am sorry if I…”

“If what, Miss Heywood?” he prompted when she seemed unable to complete her sentence.

“I fear I had not given enough thought to how our arrangement would affect everyone else. Your father was so happy for you, and I feel terrible that we will eventually disappoint him.”

To her surprise, Mr. Stringer smiled. “Never mind about that. There will always be something I can do to disappoint my father, he is very used to it.”

Charlotte laughed, astonished. “You mustn’t say that. I am sure that is not true.”

“Well – “

Whatever Mr. Stringer had been about to say was interrupted by the arrival of the butler, coming to inform them that the carriage was ready to take Miss Heywood home.

“Oh.”

“I asked for it to be brought round when I came back down,” Mr. Stringer said. “I thought you would not want to get home too late.”

Charlotte nodded for this made perfect sense. Now that she had done what was necessary there was no reason for her to remain. However, she felt reluctant to rise, and the puzzling feeling brought an unwelcome a flush to her cheeks.

This flush darkened considerably when she noticed her hand, unbeknownst to her, had lingered on Mr. Stringer’s forearm.

She brought her hand back to her person in a very awkward motion, and could only hope that the waning candlelight was not bright enough for Mr. Stringer to apprehend her embarrassment.

In fact, he saw no embarrassment, though she would have been no less at ease had she known Mr. Stringer did notice how well the rosy flush to her cheeks suited her countenance.

“Well, thank you for dinner,” Charlotte said, rising ungracefully. “Goodnight, Mr. Stringer.”

He stood in a fluid motion while smiling knowingly at her. “Now it is my turn to remind you.” At Charlotte’s raised eyebrow, he added in a whisper, sparing a glance at the still-open door, “James.”

“Of course,” she said, laughing lightly. “Goodnight, James.”

“Until tomorrow.”

She had started for the door but turned to face him at this remark. “Tomorrow?”

“If you still wish to see the building?”

“Oh, yes of course. I am looking forward to it,” Charlotte said. It was still very much true. And yet she was also, inexplicably, nervous.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, I love hearing from you! I hope you are all safe and well ❤️

The following afternoon, when Charlotte would otherwise have set off for the Pump Room, she went first to the building site. Although she had the direction of the place, Charlotte found she did not need to consult her paper, for once she was close enough her ears guided her to the right location. She welcomed the hustle and bustle all around her, but she supposed she must have stood out in her green spencer jacket atop a pale blue dress for she had not been observing the works for even five minutes before Mr. Stringer approached her.

His warm greeting was followed by a frown. “Do you not have a maid or a footman with you?” he wondered, his eyes looking behind her.

“No. It is not a long walk,” she continued, when he appeared to require some further explanation. “I am only going to the Pump Room from here and then will return home.”

He did not seem appeased by this reasoning. “Do you make that walk alone regularly?”

Charlotte smiled. He was not the first to express concern over her solitary walks, but she chafed at being forced to have an escort. She supposed they must have never met walking in town before so there had not been occasion for him to notice her want of convention. “You sound like Robert and Olivia – though they have learnt to stop asking me to change my ways. I feel perfectly safe,” she assured him.

He appeared to debate his response before eventually replying, “Still, it does not strike me as the most sensible course of action.”

Charlotte held back a sigh. “I did not come to quarrel. And I’m sure you have much to be getting on with after my visit, so perhaps we should begin.”

He looked as if he expected such a reply, shaking his head as his glance darted to the workers behind them and back to her. “Very well. But as your _fiancé_ , will you at least assure me that you do not make such walks alone after dark?”

Charlotte hesitated then, her usual impatience to be done with the subject of her solitary walks faltering at this new angle. She had not considered how even such simple actions of hers would now also reflect on him.

At least in the answer to this last question, she could be honestly reassuring. “I am usually with Olivia and Robert in the evenings – but I do indeed take a footman with me if I am not. And I suppose occasionally I might take a maid with me when I go out walking in the day.” She could tell from the amusement growing in his smile that her reluctance was clear. “At least if I am going a great distance,” she conceded. “I suppose I would not want anyone to think you are a negligent fiancé.”

His smile widened. “Do not trouble yourself on my account. I was thinking of your safety, not of my reputation. I am sure all our mutual acquaintances are well aware that Miss Heywood knows her own mind.” His voice lowered before he continued, his head tilted towards her as if about to share something of great import, “If you start changing your habits for my sake, it may be what exposes our secret.”

Charlotte could not help the giggle that escaped her lips at this. “Surely a wife is expected to make some changes to her behaviour as her husband desires.”

“Perhaps. But if you have been so adamant as not to change your habits at Robert and your sister’s request, I am sure he would never believe that _I_ could sway you.”

She smiled. “I don’t know whether you mean to flatter or insult me, Mr. Stringer.”

“Flatter you, of course.”

“In that case, I believe we need to discuss what you consider flattery, M – James,” she corrected herself this time. From behind Mr. Stringer, she had started to note the interested gazes of some of the workers, which had recalled to her their public location. She didn’t think any of the workers who might overhear their conversation would dwell on her style of address, but it was best not to fall into the habit. “But perhaps you can show me the building first?”

He nodded in agreement. “Shall we?”

As he led her nearer the building, Mr. Stringer began describing the current stage of the works. He paused to introduce her to the overseer, a friendly man called Mr. Robinson who spoke to Mr. Stringer more like a friend than a subordinate, before taking Charlotte for a closer look.

Although the live nature of the site meant she could not look too closely, there were two platforms that Charlotte was allowed on. They granted her a clear view inside rooms still under construction and she greatly enjoyed seeing the intricacies of how the lodging would take shape.

Recollections of the building project in Sanditon swiftly came to the front of her mind, but the benefit of time meant her thoughts remained agreeably on the similarities and differences between the works, without straying to the less than pleasant circumstances that had ended her initial visit.

While appreciating Mr. Stringer’s design, Charlotte could not help but appreciate the man behind it. He spoke animatedly about the building, welcoming her thoughts and questions about the work. She also noticed how well he spoke to the men they passed, who responded jovially in turn, some giving her curious looks but none being so impertinent as to ask for information that was not offered. She knew the broad overview of Mr. Stringer’s history, having started as a worker himself before rising to his current position as a promising, well thought of architect. It seemed he had not forgotten his history, and she thought well of him for it, for she knew the same could not be said of everyone who had been able to better their rank in society.

Additionally, she was now certain that they had never met outside in the afternoon before, for if they had she would surely have noticed just how fine his countenance appeared in daylight.

That was by the by, of course. Not half so important as anything else.

But the observation did strike her enough that it would be unconsciously entered in her journal that evening.

Her visit passed much more quickly than she would have liked, but Mr. Stringer did have other obligations and as Charlotte was engaged to meet her friend Catherine at the Pump Room she did not stay above an hour. She very much wished to return, but although Mr. Stringer kept his agreement to write to her when they could not meet, his letters were very short and lacked a further invitation.

At least she knew they had their trip to the theatre at the close of the following week, where she could learn more from him in person. She was disappointed to receive his note declining her invitation to join them in the Goldings’ carriage, but although he arrived much later than most of their acquaintance, there was time enough for her to speak to him privately before they were obliged to take their seats.

“I was beginning to wonder whether you would miss the first Act entirely,” she remarked as she approached Mr. Stringer, having seen him arrive from the other end of the hallway.

He smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I’ve been confined to my office all day and only just managed to return home in time to change.”

“Is there much to do in the office still?” Charlotte wondered. “At this stage, I thought the majority of the work would be at the site.”

“It is; I have been busy today with another proposal.”

“Already?” She immediately regretted making her astonishment so plain, for it was not her place to judge Mr. Stringer’s business decisions. “That is – you know what is best, I’m sure.”

When she met his eyes, however, he was smiling. “It would not be my preference to spend so much time on other work, but one of my investors has recently inherited a country estate,” he explained. “I have done work on his property in Bath before and now he wants me to look at designs for the landscape of the estate.”

“I did not know you worked on that sort of architecture,” Charlotte said, her interest growing.

“I have done some work on landscapes; much more during my apprenticeship than since I started my own business. It is not where my true interest lies. But Mr. Mowbray’s investment is substantial so I must keep him happy,” he finished with a rueful smile.

“He must think highly of your work if he has commissioned you for this other project. But as an investor one would think he would not want to distract you when you have so much to do as it is.” When Mr. Stringer did not reply, and only looked at her with curious eyes, Charlotte glanced away. “I don’t mean to overstep –“

“No, that’s all right.” Mr. Stringer gave a wry laugh. “In truth, I wondered the same myself. But I suppose men like Mr. Mowbray are too used to thinking of what they want done and not everything that must be accommodated for that to happen.”

“I suppose they must. Are not any of your staff able to assist you? I thought you employed a few men who worked on designs as well.”

“Not many, and this is not their expertise. – Not that it is mine either, but.” He paused, deliberating. “Mr. Mowbray is very exacting and it’s not a responsibility I feel I should pass on to the others.”

Charlotte nodded, perfectly comprehending his position. However, before she could tell him as much, Robert’s cheerful voice boomed from over her shoulder.

“There you two are! It is not like you to be fashionably late, James,” he continued, smiling at his friend. “Poor Charlotte has been worried.”

“Not _worried_ ,” Charlotte replied hastily. “James did say he would be late after all.”

Robert blinked as his gaze turned to her. “But you have been looking at the entrance all evening.”

Charlotte glanced away from Mr. Stringer’s interested look. “I was only looking to see if there were any potential investors that James could become acquainted with,” she explained to her brother-in-law.

“A capital idea!” Robert said happily. “Though you will have to wait until the interval to make any introductions. We must take our seats.”

This could not be argued with; the crowd had started to thin as everyone took their places, so they swiftly followed suit, joining an impatient-looking Olivia.

The story of the play engrossed Charlotte, but not so much that she did not wish to resume her interrupted conversation with Mr. Stringer once the interval began. However, her companions all wanted to discuss the thrilling first half and Charlotte found herself drawn into the debate as to which character would be triumphant by the end.

The two couples stood unintentionally in matching pairs, for both women had their hands on the arm of their partner. As the Goldings, Mr. Stringer and Miss Heywood talked, they saw, and were seen by, many friends and acquaintances and others besides. Charlotte did not miss the attention paid to Mr. Stringer. Although they had not always met him at these public outings in the past, when he was in attendance she had noted the indifference, sometimes borderline insolence, directed his way by certain sets. Tonight, he was treated almost the same as Robert, who Charlotte believed was just as well-liked for his fortune and gentlemanly background, as he was for his good humour.

She was secretly flattered by some of the attention now paid her due to her new status as an engaged woman, though this wilted somewhat when she reflected it was likely only because they had thought her beyond finding such an eligible husband – not only young with a respectable income but handsome as well – at her age.

They had just said goodbye to Mrs. Hunt, the old school friend of Olivia’s who had been her reason for her first visit to Bath, when Robert cocked his head to the side, surveying the crowd further beyond.

“Isn’t that your uncle, dear?” Robert said, gesturing to Olivia.

The sisters followed his gaze to find Robert had laid eyes on Mr. Richard Osbourne, the eldest brother of the man their father’s sister had married. But rather than untangle this connection for Mr. Stringer, Olivia simply said, “Yes.”

Charlotte had met Mr. Osbourne a few times since she had come to Bath. The first during the five days she had spent with her aunt and uncle in their village in Gloucestershire, and intermittently thereafter at various evenings out. Olivia had sometimes hinted towards receiving an invitation to his house, in a most fashionable part of town near The Circus, but none had been extended. Mr. Osbourne was generous with his smiles, but little else.

“Very rich,” Robert commented, looking at Mr. Stringer.

“As he often makes abundantly clear,” Charlotte noted. “Though he can be amusing.”

“Charlotte,” Robert said with more enthusiasm as he turned to her, “you should introduce James! He would make a good investor.”

“I believe he is generally loath to part with his money, but our aunt says he does invest in anything he thinks will make him a good return,” Olivia said.

Mr. Stringer looked to Charlotte for guidance. He did not press for this introduction, but it seemed the only course of action open to her. It was the reason he had agreed to her scheme and she had said (and still maintained) that her observations of the crowd had been for that very purpose.

As few dared to make the initial overture to speak to Mr. Osbourne, and he rarely condescended to polite conversation with those below his notice, he made for a solitary figure looming above the crowd. But family was important to the man and therefore Charlotte did not fear that he would slight his brother’s niece.

She quickly versed Mr. Stringer in the finer details of the connection before they approached the man. She began their conversation under the guise of wishing to introduce him to her betrothed since she was not yet able to introduce Mr. Stringer to his younger brother and her aunt. This led quite naturally to talk of Mr. Stringer’s work, and she was gratified that no hinting was needed for Mr. Osbourne to ascertain there was a potential opportunity for himself. She assisted where she could with the discussion of the building itself, but Mr. Osbourne was more eager to learn the particulars of the money, and how much profit there was to be had from this venture. Mr. Stringer was well-versed in this aspect, but it did not hold Charlotte’s interest and she excused herself under the guise of remembering something she must discuss with her friend Miss Nash before the interval was over.

Before she could locate Catherine in the crowd, however, she was accosted by a most unwelcome acquaintance.

“Mr. Whitfield,” she said with false brightness. He was only one of the eligible men her mother had contrived for her to meet in Bath, but he was her least favourite. He bore the countenance of a man much younger than his seven and thirty years, but that was the only compliment Charlotte could bestow him. Unfortunately, he was the sort of person who could not see anything to fault within himself and therefore could not imagine that anyone else could find any.

What her mother had heard of Mr. Whitfield to convince her he might suit Charlotte she could not fathom, but despite her reservations, she did not dare slight such a wealthy man.

“Miss Heywood,” he said, with an overly elegant bow. “May I congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials.”

“Thank you.”

“Though I’m afraid I have not heard when they are to take place.”

“We have not set a date yet. James is very busy with work.”

Mr. Whitfield tutted in such a way that would have amused her was she not annoyed by his taking such a familiar tone, behaving as if he was a friend rather than an acquaintance she tolerated from politeness. “How could anyone be so neglectful when they have been so lucky as to win the hand of the beautiful Miss Heywood.”

She forced a smile. “Thank you for your concern, but James is not at all neglectful.”

Before she could continue, Mr. Whitfield interrupted, “Ah, but I have seen him talking business tonight. And who could think about business when you look so lovely.”

She had noticed Mr. Whitfield was always very quick to compliment her beauty, but she did not believe he had paid her any other kind of compliment – or that he was the kind of man who might think anything else was worthy of notice.

“You are too kind,” she replied evenly. “But before the play resumes I –“

“Speaking of the play,” Mr. Whitfield interrupted. “Have you been enjoying it?”

“Why, yes,” Charlotte said. Before she could attempt to give her excuses once more, Mr. Whitfield began to recount his thoughts on the first half in the form of a monologue rather than a discussion of ideas.

His monotonous discourse continued in such a manner that Charlotte decided against using Miss Nash for an excuse, for there was a strong possibility he would decide to accompany her to her friend and then Catherine would be forced to endure his speech as well.

As she searched for some other form of escape, she spied Mr. Stringer still in conversation with Mr. Osbourne. Though they had moved position, they could not see her, and Charlotte would not have been able to see them were they not both taller than most around them.

At least Charlotte could be certain Mr. Whitfield would not dare approach Mr. Osbourne uninvited, so he bid her goodbye without incident when she insisted she must return to her uncle before the interval came to a close.

The business discussions were much more interesting now they could be compared to the lecture she had been receiving and Charlotte found herself entirely engaged until Mr. Osbourne said he would return to his box.

“That seemed to go well,” she observed as they tried to find Robert and Olivia.

“I think he will take some convincing,” Mr. Stringer said. “But it was a good start.”

“I’m glad.”

“While you were gone Mr. Osbourne mentioned he had first met you at your aunt and uncle’s house in Gloucestershire.” When Charlotte confirmed this was correct, Mr. Stringer continued, “I imagine it is very grand.”

“It is quite fine, but still pleasant. And I don’t believe it is half so grand as either of Mr. Osbourne’s homes – but I have never had the pleasure of an invitation there, nor am I likely to. Olivia has been trying to gain an invitation to his place in Bath for years now and has never succeeded. Why do you ask?” she continued, having realised she was drifting away from his point.

“It occurred to me that you will have visited many more country houses than I.”

“Not so many, I don’t think,” Charlotte said, not understanding his meaning.

“I wonder if you might offer me your opinion on my designs for Mr. Mowbray,” he explained.

“Oh.” Her step faltered in surprise. “I am not sure I will be able to help, but I would be very happy to give you my opinion.” And she was so gratified by this suggestion that her resultant smile remained on her face long after their conversation had ended, until the rather grisly death scene at the play’s climax transformed her expression, as it did all for her companions, into one of shock.

As Mr. Stringer had suggested she stop by the office one day to look at the sketches, Charlotte didn’t think anything of arriving unannounced the following Monday. She had set off from the Goldings’ intending to visit only the library, but as she took the long route so she could enjoy the fine weather, she recalled that Mr. Stringer’s office was not very out of the way of this path. Although she had intended to arrange a day for her visit via letter, there did not seem any harm in inquiring.

“Good morning, Miss,” the young man who opened the door greeted her.

“Good morning. Is Mr. Stringer in?”

He hesitated. “May I take your name, Miss?”

“You can’t be thinking of turning away the Master’s fiancée, Owen!” a deep voice called out from behind him, humour in his tone. When the man’s face came into view, Charlotte still could not name him, though she did recognise him from her visit to the building site.

“Forgive me, Miss Heywood,” Owen said, colour racing to his cheeks as he moved to allow her inside.

“There is nothing to forgive; I was very remiss in not giving my name, or sending notice of my coming.”

The entrance opened onto a large room, full of desks, various tools and plenty of drawings and books. Although there were only a handful of men scattered about the space, she could feel their curiosity at her unexpected arrival and she tried not to shrink under the attention as she clutched her books tightly to her chest.

“I take it Mr. Stringer is in his office, then?” she ventured, but footsteps were already treading down the staircase and he soon appeared at the back of the room. 

Knowing better than to continue to stare, the others returned to their work as Mr. Stringer crossed the short distance to stand in front of Charlotte.

Although he greeted her pleasantly with his usual smile, he did not cut the tidy figure he usually did – his necktie looked rather carelessly fixed and his hair lacked its usual height. Charlotte worried that she had made the wrong decision in visiting today.

She said in a low voice, “I’m sorry to intrude.”

“Not to worry. It has been a busy morning, but I am happy to see you.”

“I thought as I was passing I could look at the designs you mentioned… But if it is not a good time,” she hastened to add, but he shook his head.

“Now is fine. Those particular designs are in my office,” he said.

She began to follow him but stopped when her eyes caught on an unattended desk full of sketches.

“My apologies for the mess –“

“Oh no,” Charlotte interrupted him, “the work is fascinating.” She fingered the edges of the paper as she studied the work. “I recognise this from the other day. – And this one is the same feature, isn’t it, but an earlier draft?” she guessed. When she glanced to her right, Mr. Stringer’s face told her she was correct.

“Well,” came a voice from behind her left shoulder. Charlotte turned to find Mr. Robinson had arrived without their noticing. “I was worried you had bored her the other day, James, but it seems you managed to find yourself a young lady who’s interested in architecture.”

He smiled approvingly at Charlotte as he finished this remark, so she returned it with ease, but when her eyes flickered over to her fiancé his smile, directed to the floor, seemed more brittle.

She only required a moment’s reflection to guess the reason why: as she was not really his fiancée, his friend’s comment was not true.

“I am sure we are not so uncommon,” Charlotte found herself saying. “I know many ladies who are interested in all this work.”

“But not many who could get James to put his pencil down long enough to hold a conversation about anything else.”

Mr. Stringer managed a laugh at this before he turned his attention to Mr. Robinson. “I did not think we would see you at the office today, Fred.”

“I was hoping to have a word with you. Apologies, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte assured both that the work was more important and was happy to wait until they had finished their discussion. Mr. Stringer led her up the stairs so she could wait in his private office, with assurances that he would not take long.

She sat in one of the chairs at the side, turning her observations over in her mind. They still did not know each other that well, so perhaps she was being presumptuous to think he was disheartened by his friend’s well-intentioned remark. He had not looked to be in the high spirits she generally found him even before that, which could be explained by any number of things. It was very likely he was still busy, as had been made clear at the theatre, and perhaps that was making him tired.

And if he was so busy then her unexpected visit must be more of an annoyance than anything else.

But now she had said she would stay, she was not able to leave discreetly and would have to wait for him. Still, she determined that she would inquire whether anything more than the hectic pace of work was bothering him, and how he felt their scheme was progressing so far – for this would be a rare chance for them to speak frankly on their staged betrothal. 

She stood, crossing the short distance to his desk in the hope she could make use of her time, but no sketches were strewn about the tidy surface. Not wanting to pry, she cast her eyes around the whole office, enjoying the sight of numerous books on the shelves and drawings on the walls – some beautifully detailed, others rough and unfinished. She admired these sketches for a few minutes before moving to survey the books in more detail.

Although many were to do with his field, Charlotte noticed a pile of novels in which she discovered a book she had been searching for without success at the library.

She was still standing by the shelf, her nose between the pages of the book when Mr. Stringer returned.

“I have been very remiss if you have finished a chapter already.”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte said, her face lifting in time to see Mr. Stringer shut the door behind himself with a smile. “Only half a chapter.”

That made him laugh as he moved further into the room. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Truly I hardly noticed; I have been so eager to read _Guy Mannering._ However did you get a copy? I heard it sold out on the first day!”

“My friend Mr. Carey was lucky enough to obtain one and lent it to me after he had finished it since he knew I enjoyed _Waverley_.”

“As did I,” Charlotte replied enthusiastically. “How do you think this one compares?”

“Very well – in fact, I think it is better. But feel free to borrow it and see what you think.”

“Are you certain? I am going to Duffield’s library from here, so I will have plenty of new books to read. And it is your friend’s copy, after all.”

“Mr. Carey has returned to London so he is not in any rush for it back. You are welcome to take it,” Mr. Stringer continued with a twinkle in his eye, “just so long as you promise to take good care of it.”

Charlotte beamed as she moved it between the books she had brought with her. “I will, thank you,” she said gratefully.

He then suggested she take his desk chair to study the sketches, which he procured from one of the drawers. Mr. Stringer remained standing as he talked her through the requirements and ideas that had led to the development of the designs in front of her. Though she was not as immediately taken in by them as she had been by the sketches of the building she had seen downstairs, they were very competent pieces and she liked them very well.

She shared her thoughts on the designs freely, but by the end of their discussion she could not help remarking to Mr. Stringer, “I’m not sure I have been much use.”

“On the contrary,” he said, as he returned the sketches to their drawer. “It is always useful to have another opinion.”

“I hope I have not taken too much of your time,” she said, rising.

“No, you have been very helpful. Did you say you were headed to Duffield’s?”

“Yes, I have to return these.” She lifted the items in her hands.

“I have to go to the site now – I thought I might walk with you, as it is quite near Duffield’s. That is if you wouldn’t mind a companion on your walk.”

“I suppose I can make an exception,” she replied cheerfully and they left the office in good spirits.

As they stepped onto the street, Mr. Stringer asked her thoughts on Waverley, which she was only too happy to relate. Their discussion of the novel took them almost half the distance required, after which he inquired after the books Charlotte had brought with her to return, and if she had any recommendations. Here, Charlotte blushed, for the only book of her three she would recommend was _Evelina_ , but she was embarrassed to admit it had been the second time since her arrival in Bath that she had borrowed it, and she had read it a great many times before that.

However, her companion seemed to find this charming and they then spoke of the novels they had been compelled to revisit until their paths had to diverge.

Pleased to have had such a stimulating conversation, as well as some recommendations to look for in the library, it was not until she was nearly home that she realised she never did remember to ask Mr. Stringer for his thoughts on their arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t claim to have read Walter Scott’s ‘Waverley’ or ‘Guy Mannering’, I just wanted to mention some period accurate books they might both have read and when I was recently reading ‘Bath Tangle’ by Georgette Heyer those were discussed by the characters (and I should also credit the latter book with supplementing my research for place/street names in Bath).  
> However, ‘Evelina’ by Frances Burney is one I have read and would recommend, especially if you like your period drama/romance in epistolary format.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Charlotte barely two days to finish _Guy Mannering_ , a length of time that would have been shorter still had she not felt guilty at the notion of shutting herself up in her room and reading all day when she was her sister’s guest. She was very much looking forward to relating her thoughts to Mr. Stringer in another two days’ time when they were all to be attending a concert, and therefore it was with much disappointment she read his letter sending his apologies on the morning of the performance.

Unlike the concert they attended when their betrothal had been made public, this one was given by amateur musicians – a small group of young ladies performing to entertain their extended families. Charlotte’s attendance was purely a result of the event being hosted by the mother-in-law of Olivia’s friend Mrs. Jane Hunt so she had never had high hopes for the music and, on receipt of Mr. Stringer’s note, her hopes for the company were much reduced.

Her fears for the music were unfortunately realised that night when only half the girls performing were able to keep in tune with the others, which made it somehow much more painful to watch and listen than if none had been musical at all. Charlotte could only feel relief that she had never been forced to make such a spectacle of herself since her own musical ability would match the worst of the evening’s performers, at least in terms of her playing.

However, though Mr. Stringer’s absence was noticeable – by Charlotte at least, his few friends in attendance too well acquainted with his habits to make any significant remark on it – the company was not so deficient as she had supposed. Some of her former admirers were present, but Mr. Whitfield was thankfully not among them, and now she was engaged none sought a private audience.

After the performance, the hostess caught her and Olivia just as Charlotte had found her friend Miss Catherine Nash and her mother. Once they had all made the requisite comments over the evening’s performance – the praise seemingly quite genuine on the part of Mrs. Nash – the elder Mrs. Hunt insisted on sharing her thoughts on other cultural pursuits, a topic Mrs. Nash was only too eager to contribute to.

Although the topic of conversation was generally pleasing to Charlotte, Mrs. Hunt’s manner of assuming she was the expert amongst the group was decidedly less so – though perhaps she provided some evidence of her local expertise when she mentioned an upcoming exhibition that none of the others had been aware of hitherto. Charlotte had greatly enjoyed the exhibitions she had seen in London and though one in Bath would undoubtedly be smaller, they always had such a variety of things it was hard not to find some enjoyment from them even if one did not fancy the entirety. She might not trust the lady’s musical taste, but she had no hesitation in concurring with Mrs. Hunt’s delight for the exhibition’s arrival in six months.

To Charlotte’s surprise, her comment seemed to provoke a strange look from her sister, one she had to query as soon as they had untangled themselves from the others. “Are you not looking forward to the exhibition, Olivia?” she asked. When her sister replied that she would indeed like to see it, Charlotte said, “Then why did you look so confused? You must know that I would too.”

Olivia hesitated. “My confusion was not for the event itself, only for the date of it,” she said, her tone careful even as she lowered her voice. “I confess I did not expect you to still be in Bath in six months.”

“Oh.”

When Charlotte did not attempt to continue, her sister said, “You are very welcome to stay with us, of course. You have been a great comfort to me and Robert. Indeed, the boys have grown so attached to you that I have started to worry about how they will behave when you eventually do leave us. But I thought Mr. Stringer’s building would be completed before then and –“

“Yes,” Charlotte said, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence despite there being little danger in they would be overheard at that moment. Olivia was quite right. His letters suggested everything was on schedule, provided he the last investments came through, which would mean the building would be complete in less than three months. That was when their engagement must come to an end and there would no longer be any reason for her to stay in Bath.

Of course, it did not follow that she must immediately quit the town after breaking the engagement. Leaving would be the easiest way for her to avoid the inevitable gossip, but did she want to?

Although she had returned to Sanditon on more than one occasion since her first visit, always as a guest of Mrs. Mary Parker, these trips were brief. She had spent much more of her time away from Willingdon the last few years in London as a guest of Lady Susan and in that lady’s company, she had come to enjoy the town much more than she had expected. Lady Susan had seemingly innumerable acquaintances and there was always something new to see or do, but she did not think she had quite the temperament for the incessant entertainment of London if it were her permanent home.

In that respect, Bath suited her better, for though it provided far more excitement than Willingdon, it was not half so demanding as London. But Bath had such a changeable society, with so many coming only for waters and leaving once they were healed, that Charlotte’s circle was much more limited here than in London. The number of her friends did not bother her, for she liked Robert and Olivia’s small circle of friends very much, but as the only unmarried lady in the group, the demands on her time were rather different from the others. The ladies like Olivia and Mrs. Jane Hunt all had their households to run and children to care for. The men like Robert and Mr. Stringer had their work to keep them occupied. But unless Olivia or the children needed her, Charlotte was expected to spend her days either going to the Pump Rooms or walking the fashionable promenades until she found a husband.

She had made friends of her own, but apart from Miss Nash, the others had invariably quitted Bath, either because the ill parent that had brought them thither had recovered, or they received the proposal of marriage they had come in search of. Although it had become home to Olivia and Mrs. Jane Hunt, Bath was not the place many came to settle.

But if not Bath, London, or her parents’ home where would she go next?

Mary would surely have her back in Sanditon, but having applied some measures of financial restraint upon her husband since Charlotte’s initial visit, she was not able to keep her above two weeks at a time, nor did Charlotte wish to stay much longer.

She had two other siblings that were married, but both had opted for a quieter life in the country. Allison had married a Willingdon farmer, and though Charlotte was always glad to see her beloved sister, a visit there would not give her the change of scenery she required whenever she stayed too long with her parents.

The village her brother John had settled in was a few miles further, and being larger than Willingdon had provided a much more interesting society than Charlotte had expected when she visited. However, his wife Margaret was a severe lady; her temperament was likely well-suited to the demands of a vicar’s wife, but she had not looked fondly on her husband’s eldest sister – not only still unmarried at twenty-four, but openly flouting convention in refusing a chaperon for her walks.

The recollection of Mrs. Margaret Heywood’s scowl provided Charlotte welcome amusement on the carriage ride home after the troubling path Olivia had set her thoughts down, and in considering that visit a further recollection came to her mind – that of the gardens in some of the larger houses in John’s village. They had received several invitations to tea while Charlotte was visiting, and a sudden memory of the aspect of the garden from the largest house gave her idea.

Once she had said goodnight to the maid who helped her out of her evening dress, Charlotte did not get into bed, but took her candle to the small desk and tried her utmost to render the image in her head from memory.

She was up sketching until her candle had nearly burned out and by the time she went down for breakfast the following morning, Olivia had already read her letters, passing one over to Charlotte before she had even chance to sit down.

“Aunt Sophia is coming to Bath,” Olivia explained. It seemed their uncle Mr. Cecil Osbourne was poorly and been recommended to take the waters. As Mr. Richard Osbourne’s daughter was also very shortly coming back from France, Aunt Sophia had decided to accompany her husband and that way be able to visit three of her nieces.

“Miss Osbourne is returning to England?” Charlotte asked. She had never met Mr. Richard Osbourne’s only child but being similar to Charlotte in age had always heard her various accomplishments spoken of by Aunt Sophia, raising her curiosity immensely.

“She is Mrs. Beaumont now,” Olivia corrected, to which Charlotte nodded in recollection. The wedding had taken place shortly before Charlotte had arrived in Bath, and the lady and her husband had been abroad ever since.

“You seem very excited,” Charlotte observed, glancing up from the letter. Although a wedding guest, she knew Olivia was not particularly well acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont.

“Keep reading,” her sister replied, smiling. “There’s going to be a ball.”

Charlotte read on to discover that Mr. Richard Osbourne had started preparations for a ball to welcome his daughter home and Aunt Sophia was greatly looking forward to it, detailing much of what could be expected. It seemed his daughter was the one area where Mr. Osbourne would spare no expense.

“That is exciting. Though I suppose it does not follow that we will be invited,” Charlotte said.

“Why would we not be?” Olivia said with a frown. “Robert and I were invited to the wedding, after all. Surely he would include us. Don’t you think so?” She directed this last question to her husband – or rather, to the paper that was obscuring much of his face.

“To be sure, my love,” Robert assured his wife, looking up from the _Morning Post_ at this turn of voice.

“I would very much like to be invited – why I think I don’t think we have been to a dance since before poor Harry fell ill,” Charlotte began.

“It was the week before,” Olivia said. “When we went to the Lower Assembly Rooms.”

“Exactly. And now he is better I would very much like to go dancing again, but I do not wish to raise my hopes if we are not.”

“Never fear, Charlotte,” Robert said cordially as he rose from the table. “If Mr. Osbourne is so displeasing as to not extend an invitation we shall find some other occasion for you to dance. We cannot have you waiting until your wedding for dancing.”

Charlotte’s responding smile faltered at this final addition to his statement, despite how kindly it had been meant. But Robert did not notice as he began making his goodbyes, inquiring what the ladies had planned for the day.

“I am going to see James shortly,” Charlotte said, noting that Olivia did not respond with a smile to match her husband’s.

“This morning?” Olivia said. “Have you forgotten Jane’s visit?”

Charlotte was forced to admit that she had indeed forgotten the planned visit from Mrs. Hunt, but assured her sister she would wait until after her friend had left, even if she privately felt little inclination to do so.

Satisfied with this arrangement, Robert left the two ladies to finish their breakfast. Charlotte helped herself to more toast, initially unaware of the calculating look adorning her sister’s countenance.

“What is it?” Charlotte asked, with some concerned flashbacks to terrible tricks that had followed such a look from her sister in their youth.

“What are you going to see James for?”

Charlotte could not help but feel this was a little rude. “Do you not sometimes visit Robert at his work?”

“So there is no purpose for your visit?” Olivia guessed, her interest clearly heightened.

Supposing she had best tell her sister some of the truth lest she draw some far-fetched conclusion, she said, “I have some drawings I wish to show James.” This was evidently insufficient explanation so she went on, “He asked my opinion on a new design he has been preparing for one of his investors.”

Olivia did not look entirely satisfied by this but did not question further – choosing instead to return the conversation to her preferred matter of the ball.

After breakfast, Charlotte consoled herself for the delay in her departure by deciding she could use some of the time before Jane arrived to review her sketches for details she could not make out by candlelight and perhaps make some minor improvements.

Unfortunately, the light of day revealed that not only had she dirtied last night’s nightgown with innumerable pencil marks, but her skill in drawing was much worse than she had previously thought. She had always intended to make more effort with her drawing, but, being the eldest daughter, she was often needed to help on the farm or with her siblings – and then spent the majority of the little solitary time available to her reading rather than practicing the many accomplishments a lady was meant to have.

She tried to draw her ideas again at a slower, careful pace, hoping this would improve upon the frenzied efforts of the night before, but her next three attempts all looked worse to her eyes and it was her original two that she rolled up and eventually took to Mr. Stringer’s office along with _Guy Mannering_ after they had said goodbye to Jane.

It was only when she turned on to the street of the office and saw Mr. Robinson – who had been exiting the building, but stopped immediately on seeing her – that Charlotte recalled she had once more not sent word of her visit. Their paths had to cross and she smiled as she approached. Though he returned it she could not help but feel he did not have the same easy cheer she had noticed at their last meeting.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Robinson,” she said brightly.

“Miss Heywood,” he replied with a bow.

“Is James in? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to send word of my visit again.”

She had hoped this would provoke more good humour, but his smile was slight and soon disappeared. “You are in luck, Miss Heywood. He was at the building this morning and has another engagement this afternoon, but at this moment he is in his office.” This speech was delivered in such a manner that Charlotte could not help feeling the man delivering it wished that were not the case.

“Oh,” Charlotte said, hesitating. She had tied a ribbon around her rolled-up papers for security and her fingers fidgeted over the material now. “If you think I shall disturb him, perhaps I should come another time.” She did not particularly want to delay her visit, but neither did she wish to be a nuisance.

Mr. Robinson cleared his throat. “I have not seen him this half-hour as I have been with the other men. But I’m sure James would want you to visit, now you have come this far, Miss Heywood,” he said, softening somewhat from his earlier tone. “However, I must return to the site.”

Charlotte nodded and watched him leave after bidding her a short goodbye.

His speech, delivered in such a sombre tone, had somewhat deflated her earlier excitement, especially compared to how friendly he had seemed on their previous meeting. Still, it would seem odd not to venture inside now that she was so close, especially since Mr. Robinson might mention her appearance later.

At least Owen and the two other men in the office that greeted her were friendly and didn’t seem to think anything amiss at her unexpected arrival. They sent her up the stairs where she knocked on Mr. Stringer’s door, waiting until he replied to enter.

“I hope you don’t mind, my – _oh_.” Charlotte’s speech stopped abruptly when she took in the sight before her.

Mr. Stringer stood by the shelves in the back of the room where he had propped a small looking glass in front of some books. His face had a damp sheen to it, his jacket and neckcloth were missing and the collar of his shirt unfastened. The wet cloth in his hands dripped water to the floor as he stared back at her for a few moments; only when some dripped onto his boot did he notice and hurriedly put the cloth into the basin.

“Charlotte,” he said, seemingly as astonished to see her as she was to find him in such a state. The sound of the men downstairs drifted in, which seemed to recall him to himself. He cleared his throat before saying, “Forgive me, I did not realise you were – you.”

“That’s quite alright,” she said, turning to close the door firmly, silently berating herself at her embarrassment. She was hardly a schoolroom miss to be fluttering over nothing more than an open shirt. Still, her cheeks were hot and she had to take a breath to calm herself before turning around again.

She thought now that she was prepared the sight of Mr. Stringer in this state of undress would be less affecting, but this time she noticed the details she hadn’t seen before: the droplets that clung to the curls at his forehead, the contours of his collarbone between the open fabric of his shirt. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, and the flecks of dirt that clustered around his wrists did not distract from their pleasing shape.

This last thought made her cheeks feel hotter still and she cast her gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry I didn’t send word of my visit. I did not think – “ She glanced up and their eyes met momentarily before both glanced to opposite corners of the room. “Did – uh – something happen?”

His responding laugh made her risk looking at him again. She noted his expression was somewhat sheepish as he explained, “I foolishly decided to help at the site this morning, forgetting I had a meeting with my investors this afternoon.”

“Oh no,” Charlotte replied, genuine concern managing to break through some of her sudden nerves. “Will you be late?”

“No, I don’t believe so. But there is not time enough to go home and change so I must make do with what I can to get myself cleaned up.”

“I suppose that is the only mirror you have here,” she said sympathetically, noting the miniature size of it.

“Unfortunately so; it has taken slightly longer than I had anticipated.”

“Well, if you need any help,” Charlotte began to offer before she had truly considered what she was saying, her cheeks flushing once more when she realised. Even if Mr. Stringer was truly her betrothed it would not be appropriate for her to make such an offer. But she could not let her friend face his investors in such a state if she could be of some assistance. “I could assist…if you need,” she finished, unable to quite meet his eyes.

“Well.” He cleared his throat, seeming somewhat embarrassed himself. “I am nearly finished, but…I would like to know I haven’t missed anything on my face or neck.” When she did not respond immediately, he continued, “I can ask one of the boys, I was – ”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure it would seem strange that your fiancée could not perform such a simple task,” she said, with a confidence she did not feel. Charlotte clumsily pulled off her bonnet and gloves before setting them alongside her reticule, book, and rolled-up papers on his desk in the middle of the room. Then she continued to the far side where he was stood.

He seemed unsure what to do with his hands and was about to move them close by his sides, when she put a hand out to stop him, accidentally grazing his palm. She took surely too long to remove her fingers from where they had connected before explaining, “You don’t want to get your trousers dirty.”

He nodded jerkily. “Of course.”

He let his hands hang more loosely away from his sides as she took one final step closer, lifting her head to study his face.

She had always thought Mr. Stringer had a pleasing, amiable countenance, but viewed in such proximity it was very striking. She struggled not to watch his eyes as she cast her gaze over him, for they were fixed on her face most intently.

Knowing she could not complete her task if this taught silence remained, Charlotte asked, “Does this happen often?”

“ _This_?” was his grave response.

“No, I – “ She stopped and gave him a scolding look when she realised he was teasing her.

“I do only have one pretend fiancée after all,” he said in a more light-hearted tone.

She could not help a smile, though she soon tried to school her countenance into a neutral expression. “I meant do you help at the site often? I did not think you did that sort of work anymore.”

“No,” he replied, his look turning less playful. “Only when circumstances require it.”

At this moment her gaze had trailed to his neck and the close sight of his open collar meant her unsteady heart was quite glad to have a serious matter to discuss to distract herself. “Did something go wrong? Are they behind schedule?”

“No, not – I did not mean those circumstances.” The smile on his lips was rueful. “As much as I prefer the position I am in now, I do find the work can help relieve frustrations.”

Charlotte nodded, understanding this reasoning. “May I ask what caused such frustration?” When he hesitated to answer, she began quietly, “I hope it is not – is there a lady you wish to –“

His interruption was as swift as it was kindly delivered. “Do not trouble yourself, Charlotte. It was nothing to do with our arrangement.”

“Oh. Well, I am glad,” she said. Though for some inexplicable reason she did not feel entirely glad that their arrangement was so very far from his mind.

This unwelcome feeling faded, however, when he explained, “It is my father.”

“Your father?” Charlotte repeated, any observations pertaining to the movement of his throat now gone from her mind. “Is he ill?”

Mr. Stringer’s face twisted, frustration clear as he said, “His leg has been bothering him more of late. The doctor wants him to try a new medicine, but my father refuses. And he is cutting his walks short, but reducing his exercise is making the problem worse, not better.”

He was so close that Charlotte had a sudden urge to reach out and soothe the lines that had appeared on his forehead, and she made her hands into fists so she did not.

“I am sorry,” she said. “That does sound very difficult.”

He sighed. “I can barely convince him to listen to me, never mind any of the servants. We had another argument this morning – I fear I have left Mrs. Gibbs to deal with another of his moods.”

“Your housekeeper?” she recalled.

“Yes. She is very good at handling him, but I wish she did not need to quite so often.”

Charlotte bit her lip, wishing she could offer some assistance. “Is it the servants who take him for his walk?” she asked suddenly.

“Usually. Occasionally a friend of his will, but they are not in their best health either,” he said with a wry smile, “so their visits are usually kept indoors. I take him whenever I am not at work – and if the weather is good sometimes I can take him in the evening, but it has been quite chilly of late.”

“Do you think –“ She hesitated, wondering if she was being presumptuous. “Would it make any difference if I went for a walk with him?”

Mr. Stringer blinked, managing to look even more astonished than he had when she had first walked in.

She resisted the urge to adjust one of her curls at his penetrating stare. “Perhaps he might try to make more of an effort on his walk if the request came from his future daughter-in-law?” she suggested.

Mr. Stringer’s jaw worked for a moment before he attempted a response. “He might – but I cannot ask that of you, Charlotte.”

“You are not asking, I am offering. Why I spend most of my days going on walks anyway – it would be no trouble for me.”

“You say that now,” Mr. Stringer said seriously. “When he is in one of his tempers he can be very disagreeable.”

“And if he is, then we need not repeat the exercise. But I see no reason why I cannot make the attempt.”

Mr. Stringer turned and started walking the length of the room. Her breath suddenly came more easily at the distance, but part of her felt it was a shame for him to be so far away. She had threaded her fingers through each other in two different ways before he eventually said, “If you truly don’t mind – I suppose if he formed the habit while going with you then it would be easier to make him continue when you would no longer be able to take him.”

It was on the tip of Charlotte’s tongue to ask why that would be before she recalled the very obvious reason. Regardless of whether she remained in Bath or not, it would not make any sense for her to go walking with the father of the man she had jilted, no matter how amicable her continued acquaintance with his son.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” he began, striding towards her once more, though stopping halfway.

“It is nothing.”

“No, truly – it is very kind of you.”

His gentle smile radiated warmth and this renewed observation of his face reminded Charlotte she was entirely neglecting her task.

“Your face is – clean,” Charlotte said tightly. “Could you turn around?” she asked.

He complied, but it would not do. She could not see clearly above his shirt and it would be highly inappropriate to ask him to adjust it when that might bare his shoulders.

She needed a moment to recover from that thought before she said, “I might need you to sit down.”

“Of course,” he replied. He moved to the chair, leaning forward at an angle as he sat and immediately resuming the subject of her walking with his father.

Believing his father might be more amenable to the suggestion if he heard it from Charlotte herself, they discussed when would be suitable for her to visit again while she surveyed the back of his head. His collar was a little damp, but his hair and neck seemed clean except for a solitary mark behind his ear.

“There is just one spot you have missed.”

“Do you think it will be hidden by my neckcloth?”

It was possible. But there seemed no sensible reason she couldn’t help him in this regard. “I can clean it just to make certain.”

She noticed a subtle movement of his head, but he did not turn around before murmuring his agreement.

Charlotte moved to pick up the cloth, squeezing the excess water into the basin before returning. She used one hand to keep his hair out of the way, immediately noting the softness of the short curls at the base of his neck. Her normally comfortable spencer jacket felt very tight across her chest as she rubbed the cloth over the offending spot. It disappeared quickly and excess droplets fell from the cloth down the back of his neck. Thinking only of preventing the water from dampening his collar further, Charlotte instinctively moved to stop the water in its path, touching her finger to the middle of his neck.

The contact made Mr. Stringer’s shoulders jerk while Charlotte’s hands retreated sharply as if burned. Though his skin had been warm, it was nothing compared to the heat in her face.

“It is alright now?” he asked.

Charlotte found enough of her voice to respond with a simple, “Yes.”

In a fluid motion, Mr. Stringer rose, and Charlotte was suddenly tilting her head once more to meet his gaze. “Thank you,” he replied, taking the cloth from her.

“Not at all. I cannot let my fake fiancé meet his investors looking untidy,” she said with false confidence.

He smiled as he moved back to the basin, already wiping his wrists clean. “Of course.”

Even though there could not be much objection in seeing his arms she felt that she should not watch – but to turn away would be to make a fuss over nothing, so her eyes went to the bookshelf.

Before she could make some attempt at regular conversation, he said, “It seems I have been remiss, Charlotte.” When she only looked at him curiously, he continued, “I have not asked you the purpose of your visit. I presume you did not come just to solve all my problems.”

She laughed at this, relieved at the gentle teasing. “I have come to return _Guy Mannering_. And – “ she fought past a sudden burst of shyness to say, “I have done some drawings I wanted to show you.”

He stopped drying his hands to stare at her in delight. “Have you been designing, Miss Heywood?”

Charlotte explained how her recollection of her visit to her brother’s village provided her with sudden inspiration for Mr. Mowbray’s landscape while Mr. Stringer listened intently.

“Are those your sketches?” he asked. He nodded to the scrolls on the desk, regrettably pulling his sleeves back down.

“Yes.” Charlotte moved to open them, annoyed at her previous self for having tied the ribbon so tightly.

He picked up his neckcloth as he said, “You must have fond memories of your brother’s village for it to have inspired you into making a design.”

Her responding inelegant laugh only served to heighten Mr. Stringer’s curiosity. “I am very fond of my brother, and his village is very pretty. Certainly more interesting than Willingdon,” Charlotte said, uncertain how much to share.

“But not interesting enough that you wish for a second visit?”

“For my part, I would be happy to see it again, but I don’t believe my brother’s wife desires me to return.”

By this point, she had removed the ribbon and gestured for him to take the scrolls, but although he had finished fastening his neckcloth and collar and come to stand by her, he would not open the papers until he knew more.

“I am not considered a good example for a vicar’s older sister,” Charlotte explained.

He frowned. “Because you are unmarried?”

Charlotte twisted her lips before admitting, “Because I laughed in church. I did not mean to!” she hastened to add. “There was just something so ridiculous about seeing John deliver his sermon so seriously and the whole congregation looking at him so solemnly when it was not so long ago that we would wrestle over the outcome of the family cricket match.” When he made no immediate reply, Charlotte asked, “Do you think me very shocking?”

But she knew he did not – for his expression was a far cry from the scowl Mrs. Margaret Heywood had sent in her direction. The only word Charlotte could think of to describe Mr. Stringer’s face at that moment was fond, and though it pleased her it also made her anxious.

“I thin–“

“Oh, what are we doing,” Charlotte found herself saying in a light tone, her gaze reverting to the desk. “You have a meeting to get to, you have no need of my stories.”

There was a moment’s hesitation during which time she thought he was going to finish his sentence – but then he simply nodded and unfurled the papers.

This had been her intention, and she believed herself relieved he had done as she expected; telling herself that any conflicting feelings were purely nerves at having her drawings judged by an expert.

He offered her the chair while he looked over her sketches, but she insisted he take it, choosing instead to stand impatiently by his side. She was nervous – in a way, more nervous than she had been when studying his countenance. Although she had at first been all excitement to show him her ideas, she now realised she was truly anxious to know his opinion on her work.

“I know I have no talent for drawing,” Charlotte began when she could no longer stand the silence, “but hopefully you can make out the idea. This part is meant to portray – “

“The aspect of the garden from the parlour,” he said in a murmur.

“Yes,” Charlotte said, pleased he could make sense of them at least. “They are only suggestions,” she continued after another pause.

“They are very good,” James replied, putting them down on the desk and meeting her gaze. “You have more talent than you own.”

“No, I know my lines are very bad. I did most of the work last night and only this morning saw I had lead everywhere; my nightgown was in such a state – “ she said, laughing at herself, before cutting herself off abruptly. She had spoken unthinkingly from pleasure at his praise, but it was inappropriate. From the heightened colour in his cheeks, she knew her comment had not gone unnoticed, but she hoped that he would disregard it.

“Well,” Charlotte said, trying to school herself, “at any rate, I’m sure you would send them back to do again if any of your men produced sketches such as these.”

It was with some effort that Mr. Stringer matched this unaffected tone, for while he had by now grown sufficiently used to the varied charms of his pretend fiancée that he could hold up against her meticulous study of his countenance in such close quarters, the notion of a pretty girl practising architecture in her nightgown was a new test on his composure.

But his eventual response was evenly delivered, “I own I might ask for them to be neater, but your ideas are very good. And that is nothing that can’t be fixed with practice.”

Charlotte smiled. “Thank you.”

“May I keep these? I would like to study them more later.”

“Of course, you mustn’t be late,” Charlotte said, moving to put her bonnet and gloves on. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

He swiftly assured her that it had not been any trouble at all – quite the opposite, considering all she had assisted him with – but he wasted no time in donning his jacket and following her down the stairs.

On hearing she would be returning home, he said he would walk part of the way with her, offering Charlotte his arm as they stepped into the street.

She took it but felt a strange fluttering in her chest. She did not know why the motion had prompted it, for James had given her his arm many times since their pretend betrothal had begun, but it was certainly very distracting. Whereas conversation usually came so naturally in his presence, now she felt somewhat uneasy – even a subject like his father, which they did need to discuss in practical terms to arrange her visits, brought with it the memory of the soft look in his eyes when she had made the offer.

Her confused thoughts were given some relief when he asked, “So, what did you think to _Guy Mannering_?”

“Oh!” On this at least Charlotte knew she could speak without awkwardness and she did so at length until they parted ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added one to the chapter count, so we're about halfway through. Not sure when I'll have the next one up, but hope you guys enjoyed the update! 💗  
> The moodboard for this fic is here on my [tumblr](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/616465134943191040/useyourtelescope-borrow-my-heart-sanditon).


	5. Chapter 5

The next few weeks brought Charlotte much greater occupation for her days than before; not only did she begin accompanying James’ father on his afternoon exercise, she also became a regular visitor to the office to discuss the designs for Mr. Mowbray’s land and in doing so learnt quite a bit about the practice.

Despite James’ concerns over his father’s reaction to the proposal of Charlotte accompanying him on his walks, his moods had been quite agreeable. There had been some grumbling the first day about not needing another minder, but he soon appreciated that Charlotte was not overly anxious about his health like he felt his son was and she did not try to coddle him like the footman attending them. When he noticed her learning about the architectural work he began sharing more about his experience on building sites as a lad – the kinds of stories most men his age would have deemed inappropriate for a young lady’s ears, but Mr. Isaac Stringer had no such scruples and Charlotte greatly enjoyed hearing them.

As they took tea in the drawing-room after a walk one day, he shared another story involving a prank he and some friends had played on a master when they were young and Charlotte had to steady her teacup from laughing.

She was glad to have prevented her tea from spilling for more than just saving her pink dress when her fiancé entered. His appearance was a surprise for she had not realised he was finishing early today. Charlotte noticed his presence first, smiling back at him before his gaze turned to his father.

After greeting them James made his now usual inquiry about their walk, which Charlotte had taken to answering lest his father grew irate from the questions. She had good news to report today though for they had gone much further than last time, and James seemed pleased to hear their progress. Mr. Stringer answered some of his son’s questions, but as always he did not want to remain on the subject of his health for very long and soon asked about the building’s progress.

All were happy to discuss the latest developments and it was with some reluctance that Charlotte was forced to note the time twenty minutes later and say she must return home.

“Remember what we discussed, Miss Heywood,” Mr. Stringer said. “I will make sure Mrs. Perry has prepared some for your next visit.”

Charlotte laughed, commenting that she did not think the food in question would be a suitable accompaniment to an afternoon tea.

“What are you trying to convince Miss Heywood to like?” James wondered, an amused smile on his face.

“Your father insists I don’t like black pudding because I have not had a good one yet,” Charlotte explained. Although she liked Mrs. Perry’s cooking from the two dinners she had enjoyed, having already tried black pudding several times – including one occasion which a friend of Lady Susan’s had catered by one of London’s most sought after chefs – she did not think her mind would be changed.

“It is an acquired taste, but James eventually came to like it, didn’t you?” he directed to his son.

“Yes,” he replied. But the tilt to the smile on Mr. Stringer’s lips made Charlotte think he was not quite as fond of it as his father supposed.

James rose with her as she took her leave, and when he accompanied her into the hall, Charlotte assumed he wished to ask after his father’s health when the man was not present, as he had done occasionally. However, he only said, “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Charlotte said, her heart suddenly beating faster. Despite his numerous claims that he was in her debt for accompanying his father so, she had no expectations of a gift. Still, she could not help feeling pleased with such a gesture.

She stopped in the middle of tying her bonnet to turn her gaze to him but James had turned away from her and walked towards a small table by the wall.

“I thought you might like to borrow these,” he said, though his broad frame blocked her view of the items in question.

Her happy flush faded slightly at the explanation it was _not_ a gift, but her smile remained – growing even wider when he returned, three books in hand.

She vaguely recognised them from his office shelf, though she had not paid close attention, her attention distracted that first visit by _Guy Mannering_ , and subsequently by the plans for Mr. Mowbray’s garden. (The reader will undoubtedly note Miss Heywood’s glaring omission of the time she stumbled upon Mr. Stringer by said shelf in a state of undress – certainly far more diverting than _Guy Mannering_ or any architectural plans – but when a heroine is determined not to notice the state of her feelings she must make a concerted effort to put such distracting thoughts from her mind.)

“Since you are consulting for us now,” he said, drawing a small laugh from Charlotte, “I thought you might be interested in reading more on the subject. Of course, if you don’t want them –“

“Oh no, I do,” Charlotte said hastily, realising she had been simply staring at the covers instead of taking the books from his hands. “I would be very glad to learn more, thank you.”

James explained only one would tell her more details about the study and practice of architecture, while the other two were mainly full of plans to use as templates, but he had thought she would enjoy seeing the various types of designs.

She discovered this to be true and a few days later Charlotte was found by her sister in the front parlour with one of the books open in her lap.

“There you are!” Olivia exclaimed. “Why aren’t you ready?”

She took in the gloves and bonnet Olivia had already donned but only blinked dumbly.

“To visit Aunt Sophia?” Olivia prompted.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I lost track of the time.”

Olivia’s laugh was more amused than annoyed, too used to her sister burying her nose in a book even in their youth. However, her eyes narrowed when she took a close look at the book in her sister’s hands. “That does not look like a novel,” she observed.

“No,” Charlotte replied. “It is John Soane’s _Designs in Architecture_.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow at her. “I assume that was a gift from Mr. Stringer?”

“Not a gift,” Charlotte said, flushing slightly. “A loan.”

“Of course. And is it a riveting read?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes at her sister’s sarcastic tone as she rose. “It is mainly templates, but it is very interesting,” she said genuinely.

She tried to explain to her sister just what was so interesting as they walked to the house their Aunt Sophia and Uncle Cecil had let for their Bath visit, but she quickly gave up; Olivia had limited patience to hear her prattle on about something she did not have a serious interest in. Although Olivia enjoyed looking at the fine buildings, a discussion of the plans that went into its creation was plainly a level of detail that did not fascinate her sister.

Their conversation turned to Aunt Sophia as they neared the house on Laura Place. The years that Olivia had spent settled more closely to their aunt had given them a greater intimacy than Charlotte shared with the lady, but she felt Olivia had always been more fond of their aunt than Charlotte, perhaps because they shared more in common. Charlotte enjoyed pretty things just as much as they did, but neither understood her love of books – something Charlotte had been well reminded of the week she had spent in Gloucester with her aunt and did not understand how Charlotte had been content to sit at home and read from their uncle’s large library when it had rained constantly the first two days.

As their aunt’s visit was to be a lengthy one it seemed inevitable that she would have to introduce her to Mr. Stringer. On the one hand, this was preferable to introducing him to her parents. While she felt that her parents would like him – indeed who would not enjoy his company – the thought of introducing him as her fiancé made her feel uncomfortable in a way she had not expected when she had first proposed the idea. However, Aunt Sophia did not have the same warmth as her Charlotte’s mother. It could lead to an awkward meeting, but at least it would be easier than him meeting someone who would truly be excited for him to become a part of the family

When they reached their destination, Mrs. Sophia Osbourne, née Heywood, was at first full of chatter about the delights of Bath – although enjoyed only in moderation until her husband was at his full strength. Uncle Cecil was unable to see them as he took the waters, but of course was immensely delighted to see his nieces as soon as he was able.

Olivia was keen to hear more of Mr. Richard Osbourne’s proposed ball and Aunt Sophia was only too happy to continue on this topic of conversation. Though it soon transpired that she had no further details since the letter they had received giving notice of her visit for she had not seen her brother-in-law since they had been to Bath. Charlotte did not think this remarkable given it was only their third day in Bath and Mr. Richard Osbourne was a busy man, but Aunt Sophia was not satisfied.

“And in poor Cecil’s condition,” she complained taking a sip of her tea.

“Is our uncle’s condition very bad then, Aunt?” Olivia asked in concern.

“Oh, do not worry yourself, my dears, he is not so very bad. – That is, of course there is cause for concern or Dr. Percy would not have suggested we make the trip, you know, but he is confident that he can be cured swiftly. Why, in a week I am sure your uncle will be fighting fit once more. – But Richard does not know that if he does not call,” she finished seriously.

The sisters shared a look before Charlotte said evenly, “I am glad to hear our uncle’s condition is not too serious. Though from your letter Aunt we thought that you would be staying longer in Bath than a week.”

“Oh why yes of course! We would not dream of going before the ball.” Aunt Sophia faltered, returning her teacup to its saucer. “Since we have come all this way we thought it best to see dear Mrs. Beaumont. We have not seen her since the wedding and the extra rest will do your uncle good. – And of course it is a treat to me to see three of my dear nieces in such a short space of time.”

The sisters smiled as they knew they ought, but neither thought it in their best interest to respond.

“It is a shame you did not bring the boys with you Olivia,” Aunt Sophia said idly. “I am sure they have grown immensely since I last saw them.”

“They have grown,” Olivia said, smiling. “But they are unruly if they miss their afternoon nap.”

“Oh, you should have come another time.”

Charlotte remembered clearly from the letters that had been exchanged yesterday that although Olivia had proposed an earlier visit, Aunt Sophia had replied that this was the only time she could see them.

Olivia only smiled, though this polite look did not have the warmth of a moment ago. “Next time perhaps. And you must come to visit us. I was hoping you and Uncle Cecil will come to dinner one day if he is well enough.”

Aunt Sophia wasted no time in assuring her niece that he would be well enough to attend, even though no proposed dates for the function had been discussed, but this was hardly a surprise for a lady who Charlotte had noted during her time in Gloucestershire marked the days by dinner parties. She seemingly had many plans for her stay in Bath that her husband’s illness would not interfere with in the least and after listing these she turned to Charlotte to add that meeting her fiancé was on the list as well.

“Yes,” Charlotte said, displaying what she believed to be the smile of a woman excited for her upcoming nuptials. “I hope you will be able to make his acquaintance very shortly.”

“You know what I said to your father when he wrote that you were engaged?” Charlotte was not given chance to reply to this comment before her aunt went on, “I told him how happy I was you had finally accepted a proposal.”

It seemed she intended to continue this speech, but Charlotte hastened to interrupt, her cheeks hot as she said, “I have hardly had innumerable proposals to refuse, Aunt.” Indeed, she had only once in her life been outright proposed to – and here she was correct to discount her current betrothal to Mr. Stringer for, if anyone had done the proposing, it was her. The proposal Charlotte had refused three years ago had not been from any of the young men she had grown mildly fond of in London, but a pompous acquaintance who, after learning Charlotte originally hailed from Willingdon, had spent their every conversation disparaging country life to such a degree that she had never believed he thought her a prospective wife – and she certainly had wasted no time in informing the gentleman she did not consider him a prospective husband, no matter how many thousand pounds he had a year.

“Well, of course you haven’t dear when you don’t give enough encouragement!” Aunt Sophia replied easily, not noticing her niece’s frown at the comment. “I had not known how bad it was until I saw you in Gloucestershire – a Marquis in attendance and you could not indulge in even a little flirtation.”

Charlotte had no notion of this expectation, for her aunt had not said at the time she must consider the widower – older than Charlotte’s father, she recalled – as a prospective husband. When Charlotte mentioned this, however, her aunt looked even more disparaging, saying it should not have needed pointing out to Charlotte, at her age especially.

“You young girls nowadays are too reserved!” Aunt Sophia continued. “It was very lucky that you managed to make such a catch as Mr. Golding, Olivia.”

“Indeed, I have been very lucky to love a man whose affection for me is as great as his wealth,” Olivia replied evenly, forcing Charlotte to hide a smile.

Aunt Sophia was not so oblivious as not to notice this subtle rebuke, but she did not let it deter her from her object. “Yes, Olivia – lucky indeed. But you should not let your sisters think they are all going to find such men. Look at poor Allison.”

“Allison is very happy, Aunt,” Charlotte stressed, protective of her dear sister who could not defend herself.

“But still stuck in Willingdon,” she said with a sigh.

“And extremely pleased to be so situated,” Olivia said lightly.

“And now, here is Charlotte,” Aunt Sophia continued in the same tone.

Charlotte’s skin prickled at this remark. “You can hardly think I am going to be stuck in Willingdon, ma’am,” Charlotte said carefully. Even if it was what she sometimes feared, surely Aunt Sophia must expect her niece to be remaining in Bath after her supposed marriage.

“No, of course. I only meant – well, I was surprised this Mr. Stringer should be the one to take your fancy when Lord knows I introduced you to much richer men. And I understand his father is not a gentleman,” she added, lowering her voice to a hushed tone.

Even though she had known this was where her Aunt Sophia was leading, it took some effort for Charlotte not to show her irritation. “Mr. Stringer is a very respectable and successful architect. The building he is working on at the moment is just off Milsom Place. And he is welcomed into all the finest parties and circles in Bath,” Charlotte said with some tightness, though she knew he did not necessarily receive a warm welcome by all in attendance at those events.

“I am sure he is. But I do think it somewhat vulgar this modern practice of rubbing shoulders with anyone who has enough money.” Seeming to note that neither of her nieces agreed with this statement, she continued, “I see you think I am too severe. I suppose an architect is far more respectable than a tradesman. And building near Milson Place, now that is very fine.” Her countenance lightened as she convinced herself of Mr. Stringer’s respectability, but her lips soon twisted in disappointment. “But you know Charlotte when you did not spark with any of the gentlemen in Gloucestershire I still hoped you might like Dolph – Lord Dolphinton, that is, Cecil’s cousin. And now he is coming to Bath soon as well!” She sighed into her teacup. “How nice it would have been for you to have a title. There’s always your sisters, I suppose,” she said, brightening.

As Olivia’s birth had been followed by a number of boys, their next sister was only twelve years old and some time off marrying, but neither sibling thought it would be of any benefit to mention such trivialities.

Indeed Charlotte was unable to muster any response, so Olivia tried to rise to the occasion, delicately saying, “I take it Uncle Cecil and Lord Dolphinton have become close then, Aunt Sophia.”

Mr. and Mrs. Cecil Osbourne resided in the Osbourne country house – Mr. Richard Osbourne long ago having made his home in Bath – but as neither brother had produced a male heir, the entailed home would eventually be inherited by to Lord Dolphinton. His mother, Lady Dolphinton, had fallen out with her cousins many years ago – not long after the marriage that gave the lady her title – and for many years the name of Dolphinton had been thoroughly derided by Aunt Sophia. However, since his father’s passing a year prior, young Lord Dolphinton had taken it upon himself to mend fences with his uncles and though Aunt Sophia still could not speak of his mother with fondness, she had mentioned their relationship with the family had changed in her letters to Olivia and on Charlotte’s visit.

“Oh, yes. All that bad feeling is all in the past – that was all his mother’s doing,” Aunt Sophia said easily. “Now he has grown up he is very wise, always so proper and respectful. Cecil and I like him very much.”

Olivia smiled. “In that case, I shall be glad to make his acquaintance.”

“Oh,” Aunt Sophia said excitedly. “You must invite him to your dinner party, Olivia, that would be just the thing. He is always such a hit at these gatherings.”

Olivia demurely accepted this suggestion.

“He went to Oxford, you know.”

“I see. And what does he do now?”

“He is a great thinker.”

“So, he is a scholar then,” Olivia supposed.

“Oh, no,” Aunt Sophia replied. “Though I’m sure he could be if he so wished.”

“Am I to understand, Aunt,” Charlotte began with measured civility, her grip on her teacup not having eased these last few minutes, “that Lord Dolphinton is an idle man?”

“Yes, indeed. Though I am sure a mind such as his is never inactive.”

Charlotte chose to put a biscuit in her mouth rather than respond.

However, less than twenty minutes later when the sisters were leaving Laura Place, Charlotte felt no such need to quell her true feelings. That is not to say that Charlotte immediately declared her grievances as soon as they quit the house – instead Miss Heywood quietly fumed until her sister took it upon herself to ask, “Are you quite alright, Charlotte?”

“No, I am not alright!” she exclaimed. “I had not thought our Aunt was such a – such a – “

“Remember we are in public, Charlotte,” Olivia said quietly.

Charlotte took a breath, recognising the sense in her sister’s warning. The streets were not crowded, but they were far from alone.

They walked on in silence for a few moments more before Olivia observed, “I admit I am surprised to hear you so upset.” Charlotte’s head abruptly turned to look at her sister, a shocked expression on her face. “I presume you are thinking of Aunt Sophia’s comments about Mr. Stringer.”

“Of course I am,” she replied. In trying to moderate her tone her words came out grating, but she did not see why Olivia could think otherwise. Their conversation had moved on to other subjects, but the more pleasant discussion of their family in Willingdon did not compensate for Aunt Sophia’s earlier impertinence.

“I own it was not very civil of Aunt Sophia, but I don’t see how you take her insult of Mr. Stringer so personally.”

“How can I not?”

“Well...he is not your proper fiancé,” Olivia replied quietly so no one passing could hear.

“But she does not know that. Besides, he is still our friend – and that she would think I would prefer a man like Lord Dolphinton!”

“As neither of us has made Lord Dolphinton’s acquaintance – and everything we have heard about him in the past was no doubt influenced by Aunt Sophia’s dislike of his mother – we cannot truly know what sort of man he is. He may be very pleasant company.”

“He may be as pleasant as he likes! That she should think I would care for a man purely for his rank and education – a man who chooses not to have any occupation when _I_ don’t wish to spend my days merely going between dinner parties. – And why is it that the mark of a great man is one who is idle instead of one who has worked hard to raise himself from his circumstance – and done so through creating such beautiful things!” Recognising she had raised her voice more than was appropriate for walking down any street, never mind one as fancy as Laura Place, Charlotte did not continue, taking another breath to calm herself.

Her sister’s reply, when it came, was far more measured. “I have never heard you speak of James’ work that way before.”

“Anyone may know how well I think of his buildings.”

“Yes, of course, but…You have been visiting his office many times recently. And from some of your discussions with Robert over dinner lately – well, it seems that you have been learning quite a bit.”

“Well, yes. I find his work very interesting. Don’t you?”

“Of course, but – I cannot appreciate the details like you seem to, I do not have the head for that sort of thing.” Before Charlotte could assure her sister that she certainly had the intellect required, Olivia continued, “Charlotte, when you are married – eventually – you don’t expect to merely mark the days through various dinner parties, do you?”

“Olivia,” Charlotte began, feeling some shame at her outburst. “I did not mean that _you_ – I know you are very busy.”

“I did not take offence. I’m sure you know there is much more to being a wife than various dinner parties, even if those occasions are most in Aunt Sophia’s mind. I am rather busy with the children and keeping house for Robert, and I am very happy that way. – But possibly you would want some further occupation?”

“Well, yes. I believe I would,” Charlotte said.

“And perhaps if you were married to Mr. Stringer you could then assist him with his work.”

“W-what?”

“Would he not suit you as a husband in that regard?”

Charlotte stammered inelegantly for a moment. Then, she whispered, “You know very well Mr. Stringer is not to be my husband.”

“That, dear sister, was not what I asked.”

When Charlotte had no answer to this, Olivia continued, “Did you not do some sketches for him recently?”

“Very bad ones. You know my drawing is terrible.”

“Only because you would read whenever Mama left us to practice drawing,” Olivia reminded her sister. “Besides, he asked for your assistance did he not?”

“For my opinion.”

“And you have been visiting his father nearly every day recently.”

“A temporary measure,” Charlotte said quickly, “until his leg has improved more.”

“And you don’t think these are things a wife might do?” Olivia said, heat behind her tone. “I help Robert care for his parents – And I have no head for law, but Robert still asks for my opinion from time to time.”

“I…” Charlotte faltered. “A friend may do those things as well.”

Olivia gave her a sharp look.

When Charlotte could not meet it they continued their walk in silence for a few minutes before Olivia halted abruptly.

“Let’s go this way.”

Charlotte frowned. “It is quicker to the shop this way, is it not?” she asked, gesturing straight ahead. Before setting off from home they had decided they would look at some new ribbons on their way back from the visit, and possibly some other shops as well. Although the idea had been Olivia’s, Charlotte was glad to have something to look forward to after her irritation at Aunt Sophia’s words.

“Yes, but as we are so close to the building works, I think we should pay a visit.”

And without waiting for her sister to reply, Olivia turned to her right and started walking.

It only took a few steps for Charlotte to catch up – for although Olivia’s pace had quickened after running after two young boys, Charlotte had more years of practice – and this was not nearly enough time for her to have ascertained her sister’s intention.

“You have seen the building before,” Charlotte said.

“Not for some time; from what you have said there has been much progress.”

“But we do not know if Mr. Stringer will be there. I would not want to disturb the men.” She had grown familiar with some of them through her increased visits to the office and though all treated her kindly, she still did not wish to arrive unannounced.

“We do not need to disturb them,” Olivia replied easily. “You can tell me about it.”

Charlotte argued that she did not know enough, but when they arrived at the site she soon proved herself wrong. They looked at a distance, not approaching the platforms that James had taken her on, but she could still explain the progress of the structure in more than enough detail to satisfy Olivia’s curiosity. As they looked at the works, the two ladies were observed in return, but as Miss Heywood was recognised none approached until Owen happened to walk past.

“Good afternoon, Miss Heywood,” he said, tipping his cap to her.

“Good afternoon, Owen.”

“Would you like me to fetch Mr. Stringer for you, Miss?”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, her cheeks colouring. “Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s inside,” he replied.

Before Charlotte could tell Owen not to trouble himself as he was plainly leaving, Olivia said, “If you could let him know Miss Heywood and Mrs. Golding are here, we would be much obliged.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Charlotte waited until Owen had scurried away back inside the building. “Perhaps we shouldn’t trouble James,” she whispered.

Olivia did not see the problem. “If he is too busy to say hello he will simply send a message.”

But he was not too busy to do so, for Mr. Stringer soon emerged from the building, a wide smile on his face as he approached. It appeared he had only stopped at the site briefly himself, on his way to update his investors with the progress of the building works. When he asked after their day, Charlotte thought it best not to mention the finer details of their discussion with Aunt Sophia and was relieved Olivia seemed to think the same.

However, she was surprised when Olivia suddenly said she best be going home.

“I thought we were going to the shop first,” Charlotte reminded her.

“Yes, but we have taken longer than I thought, and the boys will be awake soon – but you go on without me, I don’t need anything.”

This was most perplexing for Charlotte she did not think she had ever heard her sister turn down an opportunity to browse. “If you are sure,” Charlotte said uncertainly.

“Of course.” Suddenly brightening as if an idea had just formed in her mind, Olivia said, “Perhaps Mr. Stringer could walk with you?” She went on to mention the shop they had intended to visit first, and that she believed it to be on the way to the street he was headed to meet his investors.

He agreed it was and before Charlotte could fully appreciate what had occurred, Olivia had bid them goodbye and left the betrothed pair to their own devices.

“You do not need to accompany me if you have other work to do,” Charlotte said, a trifle embarrassed at her sister’s unexpected manoeuvring.

James did not seem to think anything of it though. He noted that he still needed to speak to one of the men in particular, but if she did not mind waiting for five minutes he could walk with her after.

It would have been easy enough to decline the offer, for the shop was not particularly far and he knew very well that she enjoyed solitary walks. The greater part of her journey, returning home, would still have to be walked alone. But despite all that Charlotte found herself agreeing to wait for him.

True to his word it was only five minutes that she waited, but that five minutes was time enough for her to strike up conversation with Mr. Robinson when he walked past. He replied to her inquiries pleasantly, but – as she had noticed in previous meetings of late – she felt a reserve in his manner that did not completely thaw even when James came to collect her.

She took James’ arm as they walked and once she was sure they could not be heard by the others, Charlotte asked, “Is everything progressing well with the building? There is nothing to concern you?”

James looked surprised by the question – understandable considering he had been in the middle of asking how she enjoyed seeing her aunt again. “As well as I might hope,” he said. “We have had a few men off sick, but we are not behind schedule. Why do you ask?”

“I…” Charlotte hesitated. “I thought Mr. Robinson seemed out of spirits. In truth, lately, I have wondered if he is not happy to see me…”

Charlotte trailed off when she noticed the rueful look on her companion’s face.

“He was not happy to see me,” she observed. “I have disturbed you and –“

“No,” James hastily interrupted her. “Pray, do not think that. It is only –” He cleared his throat before explaining quietly, “A few weeks ago I told Fred about the finer details of our engagement.”

“Oh. I see.”

“You said you did not mind if I shared the truth with someone. And Fred would never tell anyone.”

“Of course,” Charlotte said quickly. “You should have a confidante. I take it he doesn’t approve then?”

“Not that he doesn’t approve of _you_ , Charlotte,” James assured her. “Only he did not think it a sound idea. I suppose he is something of a romantic.”

He looked then as if that was not what he intended to say, but it intrigued Charlotte. “Are you not a romantic, James?” she asked thoughtfully. It hadn’t been something that occurred to her.

“I don’t think I have ever been very good at romance.”

“Is it so very hard?” she replied, amused. “We ladies do not expect much – small tokens of affection, and compliments are surely enough.”

“Compliments?” he repeated with a wry smile. “The flowery kind one reads in books I imagine.”

“Exactly,” she said, matching his look. “Such as telling a lady that she is the best-dressed in the room, or that she is more beautiful than the day before – that sort of thing.”

“Even if that is untrue?”

Her gasp was crossed with a burst of unexpected laughter. “How ungallant! You certainly can’t think it appropriate to tell a lady she is _less_ beautiful than before.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” she asked, still amused.

“That every day I have seen you, you’ve looked just as beautiful as the last.”

Her steps faltered and she could only hope that despite their proximity he had not noticed. Her cheeks flushed horribly, and she did not know if it were from his comment – delivered so off-hand as if it did not signify a whit – or her misstep.

“You forget when you saw me the month before last after that awful rainstorm,” she said, trying to maintain the lightness of their conversation. She had been caught on her way back from the Pump Rooms and entered the hallway at her sister’s house sopping with rain just as Robert had left the library with Mr. Stringer in tow. Both men had been polite enough to make no comment on her appearance other than what concern for her health would allow, but when she had reached her room shortly after the looking-glass confirmed she looked in even worse a state than she had felt.

“I have not forgotten.”

“Oh. Well.” Charlotte cleared her throat, a strange fluttering in her chest. “I suppose such a compliment would certainly do well, but I don’t have any need of them.”

His gaze fell to hers then, a sparkle in his eyes. “It would hardly be appropriate for me to pay such a compliment to someone other than my fiancée.”

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte said unsteadily.

They walked in silence a few steps more, Charlotte eyeing Mr. Stringer from the corner of her eye. He appeared completely unfazed by their conversation, whereas her cheeks still felt as if they were burning.

“I like your neckcloth,” she said quietly. It was not a new item, for she had seen him wear this patterned green cloth before. But unlike some of the other fashionable young men his age, Mr. Stringer dressed more plainly with the exception of his brightly patterned neckcloths, which drew the eye.

“Thank you,” he replied with ease.

Although their conversation resumed, she could not later remember what they spoke of for it seemed no time at all before he ceased his steps.

Charlotte stared somewhat dumbly at him for a moment before realising they were outside the shop.

“It was this one, wasn’t it?” he asked, brow ruffling at her confusion.

“Yes!” she said brightly. “Thank you for escorting me.”

“My pleasure.”

Feeling the colour in her cheeks heighten at even such a natural reply, Charlotte bid him goodbye before hastily entering the shop wherein she proceeded to stare aimlessly at the ribbons for so extended a time that when the shop-keeper finally prompted her Charlotte felt obliged to buy such a quantity of ribbons she would need a whole new wardrobe to make use of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the update! As always thanks for your support ❤️  
> Until next time you can find me on tumblr: post for this fic is [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/190935864328/borrow-my-heart-sanditon-fanfiction-charlotte).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long until this fic is complete now! I have part of the final 2 chapters written already, so I’m hoping it’ll be a shorter gap for posting them than this one; I won’t predict a date though as I have a few other fic commitments. One of those is I’m taking part in an initiative to fill prompts for donations to support BLM; it’s run under another fandom I write for, but I’m taking prompts for pretty much any ship I’ve written for. You can find the details [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/620650761956818944/taking-prompts-for-blm-initiative-hi-everyone) on my tumblr if anyone wants to know more. 
> 
> Also, I meant to say last time that minor character Lord Dolphinton is named as a nod to 'Cotillion' by Georgette Heyer, which, for those who haven’t heard of it, is a charming regency historical romance novel featuring a fake engagement! It wasn’t my inspiration for this fic as such since the plot as a whole is quite different, but when I had the idea for this & was debating whether it was a step too far away from realism to write regency + fake dating, I eventually figured if it was good enough for Heyer in the 1950s it’s good enough for me lol.

“What are you doing, Aunt Charlotte?”

Charlotte looked up to meet the curious gaze of her nephew Harry. It seemed he and his brother David were not so occupied with their toys that they wouldn’t notice their aunt’s distraction from their game—at least, Harry wasn’t. She always enjoyed spending time with her nephews, but it had been a more demanding activity the last few days as their nurse’s leave to visit her family had coincided with the night of the dinner party for Aunt Sophia and Uncle Cecil, so the maid who normally filled in had other duties to attend as well.

Charlotte had assured an agitated Olivia that she could watch Harry and David in the nursery by herself for as long as needed when her sister had taken Jenny to help with preparations for the evening, and she had meant it too. However, as her normally thorough correspondence had been very lax of late, what with all the time she was spending at James’ office and visiting his father, she had thought to take advantage of a quieter moment in playtime to finish off her letter to her sister.

“I am sending a present to your Aunt Allison,” Charlotte informed Harry. “Will you help me choose which you think she will like best?” she asked, holding her hand out with the items she was deciding between.

Despite being Olivia’s eldest, Charlotte knew Harry would likely not be able to remember his Aunt Allison very well from their few meetings, but he gave the question thought and dutifully pointed to his preferences.

“Why are you sending her a present?” Harry wondered as Charlotte separated the chosen few from the set. “Is it her birthday?”

“It’s my birthday soon!” David exclaimed, now looking up from his toys.

David’s birthday was indeed the next in the Golding family, but as it was still over two months away Charlotte reminded him that it was not quite _that_ soon. David’s rather limited grasp on time as a concept was somewhat of a large barrier to the effectiveness of this reminder, and whether the young boy’s responding questions ceased from an increased understanding of this abstract notion or an increase in boredom it cannot be determined, but cease they eventually did. Once both Harry and David seemed happy with the latest set of toys Charlotte felt able to look away long enough to put the presents into an envelope with her letter and seal it ready for posting.

The letter to her sister had been one she had been writing intermittently all week, but the addition of the present was an idea that had only come to her mind that morning as a way to part with some of her newly acquired excess stock of ribbons. She was glad Olivia had been too occupied with the preparations for the party to do more than tell Charlotte a few lines to convey to their sister, for if she had written her own to send together as they often did, Olivia (who had been very curious the afternoon Charlotte had come home armed with such a large ribbon supply and only a meagre explanation) would have spotted the offending items.

The boys were not usually particularly unruly at this time of day, but the knowledge there was to be a gathering in their house that they could not attend meant any well-behaved play did not last long; Charlotte soon gave up on attempts to reply to Lady Susan, who had just yesterday written with the surprising news she was soon to be in Bath, and re-entered the fray. When the time came it took the combined efforts of Charlotte, Olivia and Jenny to eventually settle them into bed and by the time she was able to leave the nursery, Charlotte had little time to dress for the evening’s party.

Although the dinner parties Olivia and Robert had hosted in the past were informal, relaxed affairs, Aunt Sophia expected a level of decorum that had put Olivia on edge all week; as she hurried to dress Charlotte felt some of that stress must have transferred to herself, for she was constantly changing her mind on her attire, despite having decided yesterday on a perfectly nice dress to wear tonight.

When, at last, she was ready, in a pink muslin she had purchased on first arriving in Bath, she felt satisfied her appearance was up to muster and tried to take a calming breath before emerging from her bedroom. Any hope that her sister’s stress had dissipated fled when they met on the landing and Olivia looked her over with a critical eye.

“Is that how you’re going to wear your hair?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Charlotte asked, her hand flying to the bottom of her curls in concern. “I thought Lilly curled it very nicely.”

“That ribbon does not go with your dress. A pink or lilac, or even a grey, would have been much nicer.—Surely, with all those ribbons you bought, there was something more suited,” Olivia said archly.

In fact, Charlotte had been certain that she had been in possession of a lilac ribbon that would have complimented the dress well—a purchase predating her recent unexpected expenditure—but she had been unable to locate it. With the evening’s time pressure, she had not time enough to look through the new ones to find something better than the blue ribbon she had chosen. Still, she did not wish to explain this to her sister and was thankfully saved from having to attempt it when they heard the tell-tale sounds of a carriage approaching outside.

“I’m afraid it will have to do,” Charlotte replied.

Her sister agreed mildly before hastening downstairs to be ready to receive the first of their guests.

Charlotte followed at a distance, lingering when she reached a decorative mirror that hung on the wall. It confirmed that, as she suspected, her appearance was not half so bad as Olivia had fretted. Though she did not like to be vain, she decided the pink muslin suited her complexion well, and her sister was only feeling anxious over hosting the evening’s particular guests. However, in making this approving judgement, Charlotte could not help but remember the compliment James had paid her when they had walked together to the ribbon shop.

She knew it was silly to have thought of it so much since. Why set so much store by a sentiment he had not made any effort to repeat, even though she had seen him plenty of times in the fortnight that had passed. She did not doubt his sincerity, but that alone was not enough to suspect he thought of her any differently than he always had.

True, she was a little nervous about tonight’s gathering. But as it did not matter in any material sense that he thought she was beautiful, she did not believe her nerves were related to whether her betrothed might think her appearance tonight should live up to the previous days. They must instead be for the new acquaintances the night would bring—one in particular that she would be forced to bring about.

Although Aunt Sophia had not said anything particularly uncivil about Charlotte’s betrothal on their subsequent meetings since the first in Laura Place, she still felt some anxiety over introducing James to her aunt. Aunt Sophia had promised when they last met that she would welcome Mr. Stringer into the family on behalf of her brother and his wife, but this had only served to increase Charlotte’s concern, for she feared that Aunt Sophia’s thoughts as to what constituted a welcoming attitude were greatly opposed to her own. Not to mention there was every possibility that as the night wore on that her aunt might say something discourteous or even insulting to Mr. Stringer—particularly if she had a little too much sherry. She supposed it sadly likely that other men in his position who became betrothed to women above their station had been subject to uncomfortable comments by the family members of their brides, but those men at least had the satisfaction of marriage – and one based on love, no less, since there could be no other reason for such a marriage to take place. James, however, would not have any such reward, so Charlotte dearly wished to prevent any distress.

Thankfully, when the time came to make the introduction of her betrothed to her aunt, Aunt Sophia was very well-behaved. The lady was slightly quieter than usual, which could not help but raise Charlotte’s suspicions that her aunt was evaluating him carefully, but Charlotte would rather that quiet appraisal than discourse that might give offence.

The dinner went as well as Charlotte could have hoped, given the strange mix of guests. Once Aunt Sophia had given Olivia her preferred date, Olivia had sent invitations to the Osbournes, the Beaumonts, and, at her aunt’s insistence, Lord Dolphinton. Also invited were Mr. Stringer, Olivia’s friend Jane Hunt and her husband, and, at Charlotte’s request, Miss Catherine Nash. Olivia had sent these invitations under the expectation that Mr. Richard Osbourne and the Beaumonts would decline—a reasonable expectation since Mr. Osbourne and his daughter had always had reason to decline previous invitations Olivia had sent their way, and the highly anticipated ball was only a week away. However, although Mrs. Beaumont declined, citing a prior engagement with her husband’s family, Mr. Richard Osbourne accepted, not only giving her Olivia a shock but also putting her in the most grave predicament that could befall a hostess—that of having an uneven table!

Of course, she immediately assured Charlotte that she did not regret extending an invitation to Miss Nash, for without her the table would be even in numbers but without the expected mix of gentlemen and ladies, which would have been just as much of a faux pas. The trouble Olivia then had was finding another lady who would not expect an invitation for two. As Charlotte's other unmarried friends had now quitted Bath, and Olivia’s acquaintance of unmarried ladies was rather limited, she eventually settled on Mrs. Agnes Brown. Their acquaintance was not intimate—indeed Charlotte did not think Mrs. Brown had called on the Goldings more than three times in the many months she had now been in Bath—but she was well-known to Jane Hunt. Her friendship was primarily with Jane’s mother-in-law, but Olivia considered her an unobjectionable lady who was, rather crucially, a widow.

This problem taken care of, their table then came to an even twelve and once they all sat down to dinner, Charlotte thought everyone seemed perfectly happy.

Lord Dolphinton, though genial enough, was perhaps a little too impressed with himself, spurred on not only by Aunt Sophia but additionally Miss Nash and Mrs. Hunt’s awe at his supposed accomplishments. However, whenever he made statements that veered too far into arrogance for Charlotte’s liking, her irritation was tempered by the amused looks she shared with James from the other side of the table. Although it was customary not to sit couples near each other, Charlotte had not realised her sister intended to place her so far away from James considering they were only betrothed and not married. She was disappointed at being too distant to converse easily, though she was glad that his seat near Mr. Richard Osbourne seemed to be proving fruitful. The man had been wavering for some weeks after his initial interest in investing, but Charlotte hoped their animated discussion was a good sign, even if she did not think they could be talking business when Mrs. Brown was so regularly a part of their conversation. Besides, Charlotte could not complain that her primary discourse was limited to Mr. Hunt for he was an entertaining storyteller and appeared to enjoy Charlotte’s anecdotes from her recent foray into the architecture world.

Olivia was a little too concerned with looking to whether her guests were enjoying themselves to be truly at ease herself, but since she was next to Mr. Cecil Osbourne this went unremarked upon. Charlotte was fond of her uncle, but he was never an active part of the conversation on occasions such as these. He remembered to compliment Olivia on the menu, and spoke a few times when directly asked a question, but was otherwise content to silently eat his meal, and Charlotte did not doubt that once they had finished eating he would find himself a comfortable chair and fall asleep until his wife was ready to leave.

Charlotte might have believed the rest of the night would pass by in much the same amiable fashion, had she not been fully aware that her dear aunt could always find something to object to.

Barely a half-hour had passed after the conclusion of their meal when Aunt Sophia made her sentiments known. Charlotte was seated on the chaise near the front of the parlour, engaged in conversation with Robert and Catherine, when she spied her aunt rising from her prized seat between Lord Dolphinton and Jane Hunt. She stalked towards Olivia, who had just left her position by Mr. Stringer and Mr. Hunt at the back of the parlour. Her suspicions high, Charlotte excused herself so that she could join her sister and aunt by the mantlepiece just in time to hear Aunt Sophia whisper, “Olivia, what were you thinking inviting that Mrs. Brown to dinner?”

Olivia frowned. “Whatever is the matter, Aunt?”

Aunt Sophia looked between her two nieces, clearly shocked they did not already know her meaning. “She is plainly throwing lures in your uncle’s direction!”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “My dear Aunt, I’m sure Uncle Cecil would never—”

Aunt Sophia nearly smacked her on the shoulder with her fan. “Of course he wouldn’t. I am referring to your other uncle, Richard!” she hissed. “Look at them, girls—not so obvious!”

The sisters shared a glance before they turned again, this time more subtly, to cast their gaze upon the scene that so offended their aunt. Uncle Cecil was in the armchair nearest the door, looking on his brother and Mrs. Brown opposite him with a glassy gaze that suggested he was not paying heed to their conversation. In contrast, Mr. Richard Osbourne appeared highly engaged in his discussion with Mrs. Brown. That lady seemed very amused by his tale, though Charlotte thought her laugh sounded charmed rather than overtly coquettish.

“I see nothing of concern, dear aunt. But,” Olivia said delicately, “as my uncle has been a widower these past seven years, it would hardly be inappropriate of him to take a wife.”

“Indeed, I’m sure many men of his position would have remarried years ago,” Charlotte agreed.

“But what do we know of this lady?” Aunt Sophia demanded. “Who is her family?”

“I’m sure she would be happy to tell you if you would only ask her,” Charlotte said primly.

Aunt Sophia’s eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Olivia was reassuring her of the lady’s respectability. Mrs. Agnes Brown was the daughter of a gentleman, who had married a Navy Admiral that had died at sea before they had produced any offspring. Charlotte thought these facts had been made plain by statements Mrs. Brown had made earlier in the evening, but Aunt Sophia listened to them now as if they were news to her.

“And how long has she been a widow? I suppose she is low on funds and now is casting out her net for a new husband, hmm?”

“Aunt Sophia!” Charlotte exclaimed, only remembering she should have moderated her tone after she noticed James’ head turn to them out of the corner of her eye. She tried to direct a reassuring smile his way before returning her attention to the matter at hand. “That is very unkind,” she said softly.

“I am sure Agnes has no ill-intentions,” Olivia said, “and is merely enjoying new company for the evening, for she does not have a large circle in Bath and my uncle is surely very entertaining.” Olivia followed this statement by citing her concern that her Uncle Cecil might be feeling a chill and then, without waiting for her aunt to respond, left them to see to his comfort.

Aunt Sophia pursed her lips as she studied her niece’s retreating figure, plainly unimpressed by this faint excuse. Her eyes then flickered to Charlotte who graced her aunt with her most innocent-looking smile. However, she soon realised this was the wrong tactic to take with a lady who had known her since her infancy. 

“I am glad you joined us, Charlotte, for there was more I wanted to discuss than just Mrs. Brown.”

Charlotte had to work hard not to betray a frown that her curiosity had drawn her into a conversation she suspected she would rather avoid.

“Oh?” she said, still maintaining an innocent tone.

“Yes, you must tell me about your friend Miss Nash.”

At this, she did let her seemingly innocent countenance fall, for she had been expecting a comment on James and the mention of Catherine surprised her too much to maintain her mask.

“I don’t see how Catherine could have offended, Aunt.”

Gesturing with her fan to the side, the lady said, “You must have seen how she has been eying poor Dolph all evening.”

It was all Charlotte could do not to show her exasperation. Even if she had not known that Miss Nash harboured sentiments for a Mr. Rowley, whom she had met at the Hunt’s concert and had been in her thoughts ever since, she thought it was very plain that Catherine had only spoken to Lord Dolphinton in her sincere, polite way and had not been at all flirtatious. She tried to communicate this certainty of her friend’s behaviour without sharing her secret feelings, but Aunt Sophia was disbelieving.

“I did not think you so naive, Charlotte, you who have been more in the world than your sisters. Mark my words, she Is trying to snare him.”

Her skin prickling, Charlotte’s jaw tightened as she said, “If she is trying to snare Lord Dolphinton, as you put it, that is hardly my concern. If you wish the man to remain single until my next unmarried sister is of age, I fear you will have a trying few years ahead of you.”

Aunt Sophia raised her eyebrows, seemingly surprised at Charlotte’s clipped tone, but instead of chiding her niece, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I fear you are right there, dear. What a shame as well, for it is not often that such an eligible handsome Lord is available. What beautiful children you would have had,” she said idly.

Charlotte felt as though steam came through her nose, but her aunt seemed to realise the incivility of her statement before her niece could remark upon it.

“Of course, Mr. Stringer is certainly handsome too,” she said hastily. “And I suppose since your wedding is not to take place yet he has time to refine his address.”

“I don’t believe any refinement is necessary,” Charlotte said coolly.

“I know you think me uncharitable Charlotte, but I am only trying to be helpful. Since your Papa and Mama aren’t here, someone must advise you on these things.”

“Were they here, I believe my parents might have tried to better acquaint themselves with my betrothed rather than criticise him.” Charlotte intended to go on, but her aunt would not let this cut stand.

“And why do you think I asked Mr. Stringer those questions about his work, hmmm? I found it highly promising, in fact. And you never mentioned that Richard was thinking of investing in the project,” she chided.

“I don’t believe he has decided whether he will invest yet.”

“No, but that he has been interested enough to consider,” Aunt Sophia said approvingly,” tells me very much. I can see that Mr. Stringer has a bright future ahead of him—but if he is to rise to the top of his profession he will need commissions from people of the highest quality and you know they will judge their architect on his manner just as much as they will his designs.”

This gave Charlotte pause. As much as her instinct was to argue with her aunt’s critiques, she knew all too well the unfortunate truth in her last statement. People would— _did_ —still judge him on where he came from rather than the quality of his work. Why, that had been the very reason she thought he would have something to gain from her proposal to act as her betrothed. And it had worked, having gained him investments from some gentlemen who were not so slow to decide as Mr. Osbourne.

Misunderstanding her niece’s silence, Aunt Sophia said, “His manners are very good, of course. Only sometimes his speech gives him away a little. The accent, you know. But that is something that can be removed with practice.”

As Charlotte quite liked James’ accent she resolved only to purse her lips so she did not say something she might regret.

“Don’t worry, my dear, I will not say anything of the kind to Mr. Stringer himself—I tell _you_ so that you can encourage him to make these little alterations. It is a wife’s duty, you know, to help her husband where she can—and we women are much more discerning on these matters than men. Mr. Stringer will need your help if he is to provide you with the kind of comforts you enjoy here and with that friend of yours in London.”

Aunt Sophia looked at her expectantly now for it was quite uncharacteristic of her brother’s eldest not to have some rejoinder for such an extended speech.

Charlotte took a deep breath and tried to formulate an appropriate response. She opened her mouth but no words came out. It was against her nature to give thanks for a speech she did not appreciate; she might have articulated the words as a child when Aunt Sophia had visited Willingdon, but it was certainly not something she was inclined to do as a grown woman of five-and-twenty.

“Aunt Sophia,” she began, hoping that the right words would come to her as she spoke, but before she could continue, they were joined by another of the party.

Charlotte tensed at Mr. Stringer’s unexpected presence, an unusual reaction he had not elicited before, but though she feared in approaching he had heard some of her aunt’s comments, his easy smile suggested he had not taken them to heart.

She looked warily at her aunt, but the lady only smiled at him. Not quite as warmly as she smiled at her dear “Dolph”, but it appeared genuine. “Mr. Stringer, I was just telling Charlotte how interesting I found your discussion with Richard about your work. I hope I shall get to see this building myself while I am in Bath.”

Mr. Stringer expressed his appreciation before offering to show her the building himself when she was next at leisure.

“But you are very busy James,” Charlotte said immediately, fear of what her aunt might say in front of the workers overriding all other considerations.

He seemed confused by her interruption, raising an eyebrow at her, but replied, “I’m sure I can spare an afternoon—and perhaps you can assist me. You know it very well too, after all you have been doing these last six weeks or so.”

Aunt Sophia’s curiosity piqued, and she asked whether Charlotte had undertaken any tours of the building herself.

“Only to Olivia,” Charlotte said. Though she supposed if this tour was to take place then she would certainly be in attendance to keep her aunt in check.

James then explained that Charlotte’s help was far from limited to tours; Charlotte listened with a deepening blush as he told her aunt of her help in the office, in both organisational matters and even design work.

“You exaggerate,” she said when there was a moment she could get a word in.

“You are too modest,” he replied with confidence, turning to her aunt to add, “She is very knowledgeable.”

Although she had wished for her aunt’s silence earlier, her subsequent stunned appraisal was disquieting. Aunt Sophia plainly had many thoughts on how Charlotte should help her betrothed, but she did not think highly of the kind of help James had mentioned.

At least his mention of her assistance jogged Charlotte’s memory for something that would provide a potential means of escape and she seized it immediately. “Oh, you remind me, James, I must return the books you so kindly lent me. I shall just go fetch them.” She took a step back before realising the mistake she had made in her haste.

She did not wish to leave James alone with Aunt Sophia.

“Could you help me carry them, James? They are just in the library.”

His brows furrowed, clearly disbelieving that she needed help carrying the three volumes he had lent her, but he only bowed.

She noticed her aunt’s eyes sharpened at this statement, but Charlotte was too glad for the opportunity to leave the uncomfortable conversation to pay any heed. She knew her aunt would comment on the propriety of slipping away with a man to another room later, but as long as they were not gone too long she did not see the harm. After all, as far as her aunt or anyone else present apart from Olivia was concerned, they were to be married anyway.

Charlotte did not speak on the way to the library, but on entering it immediately let out a sigh of relief.

Her back was to him, but she could hear the slight lilt of his smile when James spoke. “I’m afraid my efforts to assist you were not well-received. I thought your aunt might be impressed to learn what you have been doing.”

Charlotte laughed, turning to face him. “Aunt Sophia would be far more impressed if I had a keen eye for choosing muslin than for choosing tiles—at least not for another man’s house. But it was very kind of you to promote me so, James.”

“I was not exaggerating, truly,” he said with apparent sincerity.

Her grateful smile was short-lived, for the faint glow of two candles gave his countenance such a soft, inviting look that Charlotte felt the need to turn away again.

As she tried to remember where she had placed the books when Olivia had ordered them out of the parlour in preparation for the party, Charlotte wondered how best to change the subject, but it was James that spoke first.

“Have you not been enjoying your evening?”

“Dinner was very good,” she said quickly. “And it has been nice to see everyone.”

“Did Lord Dolphinton live up to your expectations?”

Charlotte giggled then, glancing over her shoulder to meet James’ amused smile. “Lord Dolphinton is…exactly as I expected him to be,” she settled on. “Indeed, most of the evening has been very enjoyable,” she said truthfully.

“In that case, I hope it is not ruined by your conversation with your aunt.”

Charlotte looked at him expectantly then, for she did not think the words he had been privy to were enough to bring about the remark.

“You seemed angry with her—especially after Olivia left you two alone.”

Charlotte blinked. His countenance suggested only concern for her rather than any personal worries. And he had spoken of what he saw, which suggested he hadn’t heard the detail of their conversation.—And what had he just said as they entered the library? That he had been trying to assist her? “Was that why you joined us?” she wondered.

“I thought perhaps a third person might help alter the conversation since it was displeasing you so.”

“Well…” Charlotte faltered. “Thank you. I am much obliged, but truly you needn’t have worried—I was not going to unleash my wrath on her.”

He matched her smile but the concern did not entirely fade from his voice. “What did she say to draw your wrath so?” When Charlotte did not immediately answer, his open countenance faded. “Of course, if you don’t wish to tell me—”

“No, I—” Charlotte interrupted him only to hesitate. She did not want him to think she could not be honest with him, but she did not wish to insult him with her aunt’s words. “It is not that. Only my aunt seems to think Mrs. Brown has, ah, particular intentions towards her brother-in-law. She used the phrase ‘throwing out lures’,” Charlotte said, the accompanying expression on her face making her feelings on this plain and drawing a laugh from her companion.

“And she is afraid Mr. Osbourne has taken the bait?” he asked, smiling.

“Quite. She appears to have it in for poor Mrs. Brown.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Brown has nothing to fear this evening,” he said reassuringly. “If nothing else, I can’t imagine Mrs. Golding would allow fisticuffs in her front parlour.”

This drew a genuine laugh from Charlotte. “No, Olivia would not stand for it. But,” she continued reluctantly, “we should probably return. In case, Olivia needs me.”

She did not know why, but she felt somewhat disappointed when he nodded in agreement. “Though I will need to return with at least one book or I imagine your aunt will be very suspicious.

“Oh, of course.” Charlotte proceeded to search another shelf. “Thank you again for lending them to me. I think they should be—here,” she said, triumphantly taking them off the shelf. “They have been most enlightening. You were right about—James?” she repeated when she looked up and realised he had moved to approach the door.

He looked over his shoulder at her, a cautious expression on his face. “I think someone is listening,” he said, voice low.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. Though it had been plain her aunt had disapproved of Charlotte adjourning to another room privately with Mr. Stringer, she did not think she would stoop to eavesdropping.

The door was ajar, and James gently pushed it open wide. With his broad frame blocking the opening, Charlotte could not see who was there, but she noticed the moment his expression changed, his closed countenance brightening.

She did not understand why until James bent to greet their unexpected visitor.

“Good evening, Master Golding.”

Harry looked somewhat embarrassed to have been caught, but remembered his manners enough to reply, “Good evening, Mr. Stringer.”

“Harry, what are you doing downstairs?” Charlotte said, approaching swiftly. “Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, balancing the three books in one hand so she could use her other to feel his forehead. It was some time since he had been so struck down but she could not help but rush to that explanation for his unexpected appearance.

He shook his head, which Charlotte took to indicate he was well since any illness was usually followed by as thorough a description of his maladies as a child of his years could muster.

Another idea came to her mind then, and her expression grew stern—or as stern as she could muster for her favourite nephew with such adorable rosy cheeks. “You know you are not allowed to come to the party, Harry,” she said, her voice soft despite trying to chide him.

“That’s not why,” he argued. But with a glance at James, he stopped before explaining further.

James seemed to realise his hesitation, saying in a soft voice, “Your secret is safe with me, Harry.”

Harry seemed to consider this, before hiding his face in his aunt’s skirt to explain. It appeared had been awoken by a strange noise and then, unable to return to sleep, had gone to the landing and been spying for his mama or aunt until he saw her and Mr. Stringer walk through the hall to the library.

When Charlotte inquired why Jenny hadn’t come, he revealed he had not called for her since he didn’t want her. Not having it in her to chide him again, especially when she was considered equal to his mama, she looked to James.

“Will you tell Olivia I have gone to put Harry to bed?” she asked.

“Of course,” James said, taking the books she offered him.

Since Harry did not express any desire to linger downstairs longer than it took them to say goodnight to Mr. Stringer, Charlotte believed his explanation to be true. Still, despite his claim of being unable to fall asleep, once they had returned to the nursery and his aunt Charlotte had tucked him in and tenderly stroked his hair, Harry’s sleep came swiftly indeed.

Instead of immediately returning to the party, however, Charlotte chose to remain upstairs for a time, ostensibly to see that Harry truly was settled—but in truth, she was the one who needed settling. Her tumultuous response to her aunt’s words followed by her private conversation with James had given her much to consider.

Though they had only been alone for such a short time, it did not escape her notice that it was the most at ease she had felt all evening. It also did not pass her by that James had somehow noticed her rising anger with her aunt from a distance and inserted himself into the situation to support her. It was an act of friendship, surely, but was it not also the kind of action that a husband might do to assist his wife?

And there was what he had said about her skill; her ability for design, and how she had helped with their work. It was much friendlier praise than his comment on her beauty, but was it not a far more worthy compliment?

Charlotte had not come to any conclusion over what it meant when the door to the nursery cracked open and her sister’s frowning countenance appeared.

Quickly rising to her feet, Charlotte assured a concerned Olivia that there was nothing to worry about, and both boys were very well.

“Are you sure?” Olivia whispered back, her gaze darting past Charlotte’s shoulder to flicker between her sons. “With how long you have been gone I wondered…”

“Not that long. It has only been ten minutes, surely.”

Olivia corrected her sister that it was nearer twenty, but it did not take long for her to be satisfied that Harry and David did not need any further tending to.

As they closed the door to the nursery and started walking down the corridor, Charlotte asked whether the party was faring well in her absence.

“Why?” Olivia asked, worried. “Did you not think it was going well before?”

“Of course, everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves. Is Mr. Osbourne still flirting with Mrs. Brown?” Charlotte asked in the hope it would amuse her sister.

Olivia’s response was serious, “You know, I have been observing them more closely since our conversation and I think Aunt Sophia may be right.”

“Do not tell her that, it will only make her worse.”

“What did she say to annoy you so?”

Charlotte did not wish to discuss what their aunt had said regarding James—in part because she remembered too well her sister’s comments after they first visited Laura Place—and instead said, “She was only raving on her dear _Dolph_ , worried that Catherine was throwing lures of her own out for him.”

This did provoke a laugh from her sister, so Charlotte continued, “I do not see why she fawns over him so.”

Instead of agreeing with her, Olivia looked thoughtful. “Perhaps it is partly because of Uncle Cecil.”

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe his illness has worried her more than she lets on.”

Charlotte still did not follow how Lord Dolphinton had anything to do with this and said as such.

“Lord Dolphinton will inherit the estate,” Olivia said in a quiet tone, even though they were still near the top of the staircase and unable to be heard by the rest of the party downstairs in the front parlour. “If Uncle Cecil passes away before her then her fate is very much dependent on the kindness of others, being without children. I think it may be why she was so quick to judge Mrs. Brown.”

“Just because she has no children, she is far from without family or friends. Or even without income; some portion of my uncle’s money will be left for her.”

“Certainly, but nothing like what she enjoys now. And, after she was so happy to leave Willingdon, do you think Aunt Sophia would be satisfied to go back and live with our parents? I am not sure our father and mother would be too fond of that either,” Olivia added wryly.

She looked to her sister for an amused agreement, but Charlotte was silent in contemplation for Olivia’s speech had forced her to note a similarity of her own feelings with her aunt’s that she did not enjoy.

Undeterred by the silence as they continued to descend the staircase, Olivia went on, “At any rate, if she wants to live in the same situation she does now, she will need Lord Dolphinton to take kindly to her. I expect that was why she would have liked you to marry him, but even discounting that she will need one of us to be kind to her.”

“Would you invite her to live with you?” Charlotte wondered. She felt somewhat ignorant for not having considered this perspective that her younger sister seemed to understand so well.

“Aunt Sophia may not be the easiest guest, but she is family,” Olivia said. “We would make space for her if she needed somewhere. But I don’t think she would be happiest here.”

“No, I imagine if she wanted an invitation from any of her nieces, it would be Mrs. Beaumont. And she certainly wouldn’t want mine,” Charlotte continued, laughing at the thought of it. “Can you imagine her and James’ father together?”

She expected Olivia to look equally as amused as she felt, but her sister’s face looked impassive as she returned her.

They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs and Olivia’s eyes drifted to the parlour door before returning to her sister. “But as James is not your proper fiancé that would not happen, would it?” she whispered.

“No, I know,” Charlotte said with haste. “I only meant—in _her_ mind, it would be an option, but not one she would want.”

“Of course.” Olivia spoke impassively but Charlotte still felt she was being judged in some way.

Whatever appraisal Olivia was making of her sister would not deter her desire to be a good hostess though, so she soon led them back to the parlour, where the rest of their guests were still conversing, seemingly in very good humour.

Mr. Osbourne was, Charlotte noted, still with most of his attention on Mrs. Brown even though Jane had joined them. His brother, as Charlotte had suspected, had nodded off in his chair. Olivia went to Uncle Cecil him first to adjust his blanket before moving further into the room to join her aunt and Lord Dolphinton. Catherine was standing with Mr. and Mrs. Hunt at the back of the room, while James was sat on the nearby chaise, opposite Robert. Charlotte noted the seat next to James was free and approached it. Olivia’s comment on James not being her proper fiancé was still in her mind, but whether she called him betrothed or friend, it was the nearest open seat and there could be nothing so natural as for her to take it.

Her movement caused James to glance away from Robert and, on noticing Charlotte, he sent a disarming smile her way.

Charlotte returned it with a far more tentative one of her own, her heart suddenly beating faster. Part of her wanted to take a different place in the room, but she was too close to the chaise, her intention too clear, for her to divert her path.

She sat next to him, carefully considering the respectability of the distance between them and the places where the skirt of her pink muslin billowed out to touch the fabric of his dark trousers.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, the same easy smile still gracing his countenance.

“Yes,” she said, nodding uncertainly. “Perfectly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the update! ❤️


	7. Chapter 7

As much as Charlotte might have liked to pretend otherwise, by the end of the evening she could not deny that something had altered regarding her awareness of her betrothed.

Nothing of significance happened in the two hours that followed her return to the parlour; Charlotte conversed with James about everyday topics, sometimes privately, but mostly with others including Robert, Catherine, and Mr. Richard Osbourne once Mrs. Brown had to leave and the man recalled there were other members of the party to converse with—even Lord Dolphinton at one point when he overheard Charlotte tell James about a forthcoming book he also had an opinion on. But despite the simplicity of the conversation she seemed to be acutely aware of even the most minor things when it came to her betrothed: at one point Mr. Osbourne had struck her shoulder with his arm in his haste to see Mrs. Brown out, but that shock was nothing compared to the way her pulse quickened when James’ smile seemed to linger on her; she hardly noticed when Mr. Hunt walked behind her chaise and the back of his hand accidentally made contact with the side of her bare neck, and yet when the sleeve of James’ jacket merely grazed her gloved hand it brought such a rush of colour to her cheeks that Aunt Sophia leant over to advise her niece not to have any more drink.

Despite its sharp delivery, this comment gave Miss Heywood a welcome excuse for the bothersome flutter in her chest. Though she knew she had not consumed a vast amount of liquor, it could easily have been stronger than she thought; Olivia had likely served something of higher quality than usual for their esteemed guests. She reassured herself that it seemed a very probable explanation for her elevated heartbeat through the late evening, and she used the same to justify the enduring memory of James’ smile lit by candlelight when she tossed and turned in bed later that night.

However, she had to discard that explanation before lunch the following day for, despite feeling fully in control of herself on her walk to the office and when conversing with Owen on his work, the moment James came downstairs to join them, her traitorous heart started beating faster once more.

She had not formulated a new excuse by the time she had left the office—slightly earlier than planned, but there had been nothing for it; Charlotte had managed to ignore the rapidity with which her heartbeat increased whenever James leant in close to assist with the papers she was looking at, but how could she be expected to concentrate on assembling them into a sensible system once he set to work on a new sketch within her field of vision, with his sleeves pushed back and his hair, usually so smartly arranged, falling over his forehead, making her fingers itch with the urge to smooth it back.

The following day saw her accompanying Aunt Sophia and Lord Dolphinton to many of Bath’s most popular locations, which at least proved distracting for, despite the many months she had now spent in Bath, she did still enjoy the sights and Aunt Sophia would not allow her to be disengaged from the conversation as others might. However, she was apprehensive as the afternoon was to close with the promised tour of the building site.

The tour itself went well though, with James appearing every bit the fine architect she thought him and both Aunt Sophia and Lord Dolphinton seeming impressed by the works. Charlotte even flattered herself that Aunt Sophia looked approvingly on her niece after a few displays of her knowledge, even if the lady never voiced such a sentiment.

In addition, seeing James conversing with Lord Dolphinton for so prolonged a time only served to put into stark relief why she did not wish to marry a man like Lord Dolphinton, or Mr. Whitfield, or any of the other men her family had contrived for her to meet while in Bath and London before that. His manner was too artful, its contrivances far more noticeable while next to James, who had an unaffected charm that plainly even the best education could not teach.

It was while making this observation that Charlotte realised, with a dry throat, that she had perhaps grown a little too fond of her fake fiancé.

This did not have to mean anything significant, of course. It was all this time spent with Mr. Stringer; he was a handsome and amiable man, of course she would feel some frisson of attraction towards him when they had been spending so much time together in the manner befitting a betrothed couple.

But they were merely playing their roles very well. Such feelings could not be real, only the result of their unique situation–one that was, sadly, entirely of her own making.

What a heroine needs at such a time is, of course, a confidant, but one was not easily found by Miss Heywood. After her sister’s disapproval of the scheme, she did not dare tell Olivia how it seemed to be affecting her feelings. She did not think Catherine would be an ideal confidante either; the girl would want to keep the secret certainly, but Charlotte worried she might let it slip by accident. Besides, Miss Nash was rather anxious herself after learning that Mr. Rowley’s mother was set upon him marrying a London heiress with twenty thousand pounds a year, so Charlotte did not wish to burden her with additional worries.

The only other person in Bath she could consider as a confidante was James, but he was the last person she could talk to on this particular subject.

She might have broken her rule of not mentioning the truth of their arrangement by letter to Alison if it were not for the fortuitous timing of Lady Susan’s imminent visit. She would certainly know what to do in such a situation as this. On checking her last letter for the date of Lady Susan’s arrival, she found it was to be in five days, only two days after the ball. Surely she could manage without guidance until then.

In the meantime Charlotte resolved not to return to the office, hoping that the additional space might help with this new bothersome feeling. She had a walk with James’ father arranged for the following day, but she did not stay for longer than one cup of tea afterwards and so managed to escape without meeting her betrothed. She would of course see him the subsequent two evenings, first for a trip to the theatre and then for the ball, but these would be large gatherings that would give her plenty of opportunity for discourse with others if she felt herself reacting strangely to his presence.

Still, in light of their inevitable meeting the following night, Charlotte considered Mr. Stringer’s manner towards her since they had started their scheme.

She was certain that he had not imagined himself in love with her when she had made her initial proposal; he had seemed shocked yes, but not upset—and surely he would have been at least a little hurt to have received such a request from a woman he had feelings for. Mr. Stringer had betrayed surprise, but no sense of insult.

The question then was whether time had played with his feelings as they had done hers, but on consideration, even this she could not allow for he did not seem to act like a man in love. Aside from one comment on her beauty, he had never tried to make speeches to her. And they had been alone so often, especially in his office. If his feelings for her had grown would he not have tried to say something–perhaps even try to kiss her?

Her cheeks grew hot as this thought entered her mind, and she reflected that despite the necessary privacy her current location offered, perhaps consideration of such a matter was not best suited to her bedroom.

Although the thought did not leave her that night, when she saw James the following evening she was able to greet him just the same as ever.

Charlotte and the Goldings were collecting him in the carriage on their way to the theatre and the presence of Robert and Olivia allowed her to feel more at ease. She had decided to judge whether any of James’ actions to her were more than strictly required by his role and the first test was when he lifted a hand to help her out of the carriage. 

She determined this was perfectly as expected, though it did prompt an unwelcome fluttering in her chest; her gloves had been chosen with style rather than function in mind and were very thin, allowing her to make out the roughened edges of his palm since his hands were bare. Charlotte began to wonder what the sensation would have felt like had her glove not been in the way, but the sight of Aunt Sophia and Uncle Cecil waving at them thankfully recalled her to the present before she had gone too far down that path.

The play was lively enough to keep her engaged, and only twice was she tempted to turn and look to the seat behind her to ascertain whether James was enjoying it as well, but she managed to stop herself on both occasions. She received this confirmation at the interval, but shortly after their party entered the foyer—with the exception of Uncle Cecil who preferred not to leave his seat—they dispersed to speak to various acquaintances and Charlotte unfortunately found herself placed with Aunt Sophia when they were approached by Mr. Whitfield.

Charlotte had known the gentleman was already acquainted with her aunt since it had been Mrs. Osbourne and Mrs. Heywood’s doing that he had made himself known to her at their first meeting, but it was still a surprise to discover how fond Aunt Sophia seemed of him. To his credit, Mr. Whitfield was in good enough humour to allow his companions some part of the conversation rather than monopolise it, so Charlotte found the meeting tolerable enough until her aunt caught sight of another acquaintance. His manner did not decidedly change once they were alone, but it did not take Charlotte long to wish she had feigned the acquaintance in time. 

In the midst of conjuring a different excuse, she caught sight of James from afar. He had been with Robert the last time she saw him but now he walked alone through the crowd. Although she had thought to avoid a private meeting with James until after she had told the whole of her situation to Lady Susan, she would always prefer his company to that of Mr. Whitfield.

She kept her gaze in his direction and as if he had sensed her eyes on him, his head turned and she sent him a look that he thankfully interpreted correctly.

As soon as James approached Charlotte made her face brighten, as if she had only just noticed him and said, “James, there you are!”

He smiled in response, greeting her first and then Mr. Whitfield, who returned the greeting.

“James, did you not say a friend of yours was attending tonight that you wish to acquaint me with?”

His brow rose subtly, but James recovered his countenance quickly enough to agree, “Why, yes.”

“Oh, well then, you must introduce me soon, otherwise we will not have time before the interval is over,” Charlotte said, already putting her hand around James’ arm. “You will excuse us, Mr. Whitfield.”

He could not argue with this and soon made his apologies for delaying her, before disappearing amongst the crowd.

Charlotte then delivered her apology to James. “I am sorry,” she whispered, her grip loosening now they were alone even if her hand remained in place, “but I could not think of another excuse.”

“I am happy to be of assistance,” James said, though his face tightened as he glanced back at Mr. Whitfield’s retreating figure. “Does Whitfield still bother you frequently even though we have established the engagement?”

“Not frequently; I only think he cannot recognise when his partner has long grown bored of the conversation,” she said lightly.

However, James did not look appeased. “I fear I have been neglecting my duties,” he said in a grave manner. At Charlotte’s confused frown, he continued, “You asked me to take on this role so you would not be bothered by men like him and I have not been attending you. Meanwhile, you have been doing so much for my father and—”

“No, James,” Charlotte interrupted, her right hand moving to join her left on his arm reassuringly. She made sure her voice was low as she said, “I wanted my parents to stop bothering me—which they have. As for Mr. Whitfield and his ilk, there is no telling how men like him will behave. I am not in need of a protector—and indeed I never expected you to drop all your work commitments just to act as my escort.”

James’ lips twisted, and Charlotte allowed herself only a moment to note that the serious set on his face did not hamper his countenance before she cast it from her mind.

“I am sure you have attended everything you can—and you are coming to the ball tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but…”

“But?” Charlotte prompted when he did not continue. “Will you not be able to attend the whole of it?” she asked, noting a disappointed feeling in her stomach.

James assured her that was not the case. “I have a meeting with my investors the following evening, but I kept my schedule clear tomorrow night for the ball. I only wondered...are you not concerned that Mr. Whitfield might try to claim your hand for many of the dances?”

“He has already asked me to save him one,” Charlotte admitted. “But I do not mind one dance and I don’t believe he will ask for another.”

James nodded. “Well,” he said, considering, “if you do need an excuse to refuse any unwanted partners I would not mind if you wished to say you were already promised to dance with me.—Though I suppose that would not be in keeping with your rule.”

It took Charlotte a moment to recollect that he was referring to her speech when she had made her proposal; that she did not like when couples only danced with one another and had insisted they not make such a spectacle of themselves. 

“No, it would not be. Besides, if I did that then you would not be able to ask anyone else to dance in case I needed you to partner with me, and that would not be acceptable,” she said with a teasing look. “I know you like to dance.”

“Very well. I promise to ask you to dance only twice tomorrow night,” he responded, matching her amused countenance.

This was exactly as she had wished, and yet she felt her smile did come so easily as before.

“I am very excited for the ball,” she said.

“I hope it will meet your expectations,” he said before lowering his voice. “However, it appears we will have to start walking for Mr. Whitfield seems to have noticed we have not moved.”

“I see. You will have to introduce me to someone, James.”

“Yes, which is rather unfortunate—my acquaintance at these events rather overlaps with yours.”

Charlotte laughed, more at herself than the situation. She knew that very well, but the words were all that had come to mind at the time. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I imagine it is hard to hear oneself think when in Mr. Whitfield’s company. But not to worry, I spy an acquaintance I am sure you do not know.”

“A friend of yours?” Charlotte asked as Mr. Stringer began leading her away.

“Not exactly. He is an accountant who has advised me on financial matters for the business. I am afraid his skill for numbers is far greater than his ability with people.”

“I see.”

“Yes, Charlotte, we must hope that the interval is over very soon, for both our sakes,” he said with a look of such seriousness that she had to purse her lips together tightly to disguise her laughter.

They had just turned when James’ countenance altered dramatically; gone was the easy smile, replaced instead by a startled expression.

Charlotte had not had chance to question this sudden change before a soft, lilting voice said, “Hello James.”

Only then did Charlotte notice the lady that had approached them; coming from James’ other side as she had, Charlotte had not seen her past his broad frame. She did not need his previous speech to know this was not the acquaintance he had planned for her to meet—the pale cast to his face made that very plain, not to mention the time it took for him to formulate even the most basic greeting.

“Good evening. Mrs. Kent, allow me to introduce Miss Heywood,” he said, repeating the introduction for Charlotte’s benefit.

“Very pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Kent said, meeting Charlotte’s eyes with such a lovely smile that, despite her overriding feeling of confusion, Charlotte could not help but return it. She then looked from her to James before adding that she had heard of their engagement and wanted to wish them both joy.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said when it appeared James’ only response was to nod. _Who was this Mrs. Kent,_ she wondered, _and why did he seem so out of sorts by her appearance?_ She searched her brain but could not recall hearing the name before.

“How is Mr. Kent? Have you been in Bath long?” James asked, seeming to have found his voice again.

“He is well, thank you. We have been here a few weeks now,” she told them. “We return home next week.—I have seen some of your work during my visit,” she said, now looking only at James. “It is very good.”

“Thank you.”

Unsure of the heavy silence that followed, Charlotte asked whether Mrs. Kent had seen the current project, to which she responded gratefully that she had admired it when she had been visiting Milsom Place. She was just recollecting what she thought of the building when Mrs. Kent interrupted herself to say, “Oh, that is where I saw you before!”

“I beg your pardon?” Charlotte said, for this exclamation had been directed at her but she had no recollection of the event.

Mrs. Kent explained that during her first week in Bath she had been very eager to visit all the shops, their selection being so much more varied than those in the village she called home, and it was during one such outing with a friend that she recollected seeing Miss Heywood. “I remember,” she said, “because I noticed you at the counter buying quite a fantastic selection of ribbons.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, her cheeks colouring at the memory of the incident.

“I remarked on it to my friend later that you must either be a ribbon enthusiast,” Mrs. Kent said, “or about to make an entirely new set of gowns—but I suppose now it is explained.”

“It is?” Charlotte said with concern. She glanced up at James, worried about what he would make of this speech, and whether he would remember the date he had escorted her to the shop, but his countenance had a distant look about it.

Mrs. Kent blinked innocently, clearly unaware of Charlotte’s growing unease. “Was it not for your bridal clothes?”

“Ah, yes,” Charlotte said, hoping her laugh did not sound awkward. “Indeed, it was.”

“Have you set a date for the wedding then?”

James seemed to recollect himself in time to say that they had not yet, as they were waiting for the completion of the works.

Standing as close as she was, with her hands on his arm, Charlotte could not help but note the tension leaving his frame when it became clear the interval was nearing its end and they must disperse to return to their seats.

“It was very nice to see you again—Mr. Stringer.”

“And you,” he replied.

She then said it was nice to meet Charlotte to which Charlotte politely replied in kind, but this short exchange, with such a careful look on the part of Mrs. Kent, could not help but stir a thought in her mind. The expression that had come over James when he first laid eyes on her—and Mrs. Kent’s noticeable pause before correctly addressing him as Mr. Stringer drew Charlotte’s attention to the fact that she had called him James at first.

Why, there could surely be only one explanation.

Mrs. Kent left them and James started leading Charlotte back to their seats, noticeably without an explanation for the meeting that had just occurred.

“James,” Charlotte said delicately, recalling the conversation they had shared the first time she had dinner with the Stringers. “Was that—Was Mrs. Kent formerly Miss Reid?”

The colour that had previously faded from his cheeks came back in a rush. “Yes.”

“Are you—is there—“ she began, unsure of the right thing to say.

“It is no matter.” Her expression must have shown she did not believe this for he continued, “I was only surprised.”

“And that is all?” she asked, still concerned.

His smile looked genuine enough though as he reassured her, and the colour in his cheeks seemed more like embarrassment than anything else.

By this time, they had reached Robert and had to find their seats. Without thinking, Charlotte did not return to her seat in between her aunt and Olivia, and found herself between James and her Uncle Cecil. Thankfully, Robert took his unexpected displacement in his stride and sat by his wife without question. 

Though she did not avert her gaze from the play entirely—for she did very much want to see how the various plot threads would be untangled in the second act—she could not help her eyes from searching the crowd with her binoculars.

It did not take long to locate Mrs. Kent sitting in a lower deck next to a man Charlotte assumed from their closeness was her husband. Her immediate uncharitable thought was that Mr. Kent was not half so handsome as James. He seemed a little older, but not with the kind of age difference that would have made it obviously a union for financial gain. Thinking back on what James had told her, Mrs. Kent had needed more than James could offer at the time, but that did not mean it had been an exorbitant sum. Mrs. Kent’s dress was in the latest fashion, but it did not suggest ostentatious wealth.

Her curiosity warred with her interest in the story, but whenever she glanced over at her betrothed he seemed engrossed by the play.

In fact, Mr. Stringer’s gaze only strayed from the actors on stage when they rested upon his betrothed, wondering at the frowns that sometimes crossed her countenance, but Miss Heywood was too intent on looking through her binoculars to notice.

She would have liked to have asked him more about Mrs. Kent, but they did not have another private interlude after the play and she was hardly going to mention the subject in front of Olivia and Robert.

However, after they had said goodnight to James and were driving back home, amongst discussions of who they had seen in attendance Olivia idly wondered about the lady she had noticed Charlotte and James speaking with during the interval.

“An old acquaintance of James’,” Charlotte said, hoping the dim light through the carriage windows disguised the sudden colour in her cheeks.

“Is she from Bath?”

“No—That is, I am not sure,” Charlotte corrected. Knowing James had lived in a smaller, countryside town before he had moved to Bath in advancing his career, she had assumed Mrs. Kent was from his town too, but she supposed she could have been from Bath. “She does not live here now though, she is only visiting.”

“Mrs. Kent, wasn’t it?” Robert said. The fact that this was said in his usual cheerful tone made the shock of his words even greater for Charlotte.

But, she realised, she had been remiss in thinking she alone would know the secret past of her betrothed for Robert had been his friend long before she had met him.

“Do you know her?” Charlotte asked cautiously.

“I only met her once—it must have been only two months after James and I became friends. She came to bid him farewell before she and her husband quit Bath.” He spoke informatively, but Charlotte could tell he knew the significance of this meeting. From the way Robert was studying her, she wondered if Robert was judging whether Charlotte knew the whole of the story and was, therefore, being careful with his words.

However, Olivia was too sharp not to notice this silent look pass between Robert and Charlotte; Mrs. Golding did not like lacking information in any capacity, but to be ignorant of something both her sister and her husband were aware of could not be tolerated, and she immediately asked to know more about this Mrs. Kent.

Knowing that even if he withstood an onslaught in the carriage, Robert would surely tell his wife later, Charlotte admitted that Mrs. Kent had been Mr. Stringer’s former sweetheart, who had married a man of greater fortune while James had been in the midst of his apprenticeship.

Olivia looked to her husband again, who seemed relieved at not having to attempt to keep this fact secret from his perceptive wife.

“Well? What was she like?” Olivia asked her sister, her heightened curiosity plain on her face.

“She seemed very nice,” Charlotte admitted.

“And Mr. Kent?”

“I did not make his acquaintance,” Charlotte said, not wanting to admit the time she had spent watching the pair instead of the play.

Olivia asked Robert for more information but was disappointed to learn he had never made Mr. Kent’s acquaintance either.

“But what of the lady, then?” Olivia asked, clearly desirous of some more substantial gossip than Mrs. Kent being merely _nice_. “Did Mr. Stringer think she was terribly altered?”

“James would never be so ungallant,” Charlotte said immediately, with a chiding look. However, the question caused Charlotte to reflect on Mrs. Kent’s pretty face and open features; gallantry or not, it would be a falsehood for anyone to claim Mrs. Kent had lost her bloom, but she did not want to dwell on what James might have thought of that lady’s looks. “She mentioned she had seen some of his work and—” Charlotte faltered a moment before continuing, “that she was enjoying Bath’s many shops.”

“And that was all?”

“She wished us joy on our engagement.”

Olivia’s lips pressed into a thin line, but Charlotte was uncertain whether this was over the lack of gossip or her feelings on the fake betrothal.

The reminder only boosted Robert’s mood though, who jovially said it sounded like an excellent meeting. He continued, “Why, if a man must see the woman that disappointed him in his past, surely there is no better circumstance than when he has his pretty fiancée on his arm.”

This statement was directed at Charlotte, so she forced a smile to her lips before changing the subject.

* * *

The next day Charlotte had been tempted to forgo her earlier decision not to visit the office so that she could satisfy her curiosity about Mrs. Kent—which in reality was much greater than she had pretended to Olivia—but ultimately decided against it. She knew James had much to accomplish before his important meeting with the investors the following evening, and she did not wish to distract him for such a trifling matter.

She did spend longer than usual preparing for the ball—even allowing herself to delve into her excess stock of ribbons that she had been valiantly ignoring to select a dark red one for her hair that perfectly matched her dress—but Charlotte satisfied herself that this attention was merely from wanting to match the grand occasion after everything Aunt Sophia had said about the fine taste and style of Mrs. Beaumont and her father. 

And though James, who Charlotte and the Goldings were once more collecting in their carriage, complimented her appearance no sooner than the carriage door had been shut behind him, she reminded herself that it was no more than a proper attention for a man to pay his betrothed in front of an audience.—That did not explain the way his smile had seemed to brighten on first laying eyes on her, but that was likely a trick of the light.

She did not inquire after Mrs. Kent during the journey, accompanied as they were, though she would not have had opportunity regardless since Olivia was too excited for the ball to speak of anything else for the whole ride.

On reaching their destination, James helped Charlotte alight from the carriage as he had the previous night, but as he was wearing formal gloves, the sensation she had felt at his touch was not repeated. This was merely noted in observation, Miss Heywood thought to herself, and did create any sentiment within her, good or bad. Still, it seemed a good time to remind herself of her dual tasks for the evening; that of not letting her imagination get carried away by performing her role as a fiancée, and to inquire—as a friend—after Mr. Stringer’s true thoughts on the unexpected sight of Mrs. Kent. 

Her intent did not waver as they entered the house, but finding the opportunity for the latter proved difficult. They had arrived at precisely the time Olivia had deemed most fashionable and their arrival was swiftly followed by many others, including Lord Dolphinton, whose carriage was just behind theirs. Just inside the ballroom, grander than she had thought possible for a private house, Charlotte finally laid eyes on Mrs. Beaumont, who greeted them very graciously. Her manners and taste were just as admirable as Aunt Sophia had said, but Charlotte found her eyes were drawn far more often by the way her betrothed’s gaze kept roaming their surroundings—lingering on the pillars and the furnishings rather than the people—whenever he thought no one would notice.

She was only just able to quietly tease James for his distraction, drawing a handsome flush to his cheeks, before their party was joined by Aunt Sophia—Uncle Cecil already well-settled into the best chair—and from then there was a succession of relatives on the Osbourne side that they must speak to. Charlotte and Olivia valiantly pretended they remembered this second cousin and that great aunt whom they had met as children, with the benefit of the introductions required for James and Robert to provide some reminder of names. 

When Aunt Sophia was satisfied that all the important connections had been spoken to and Charlotte thought she might finally be able to take James to one side, Catherine approached them, Miss Nash had not conversed for longer than a minute before whispering her desire to speak privately to Charlotte with such a pressing look that she felt she must attend her at once.

Charlotte was gratified that when she told James she would be taking a turn about the room with Miss Nash that he did not let her part without asking for her hand in the first dance.

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte replied, smiling.

“And I hope I can have the honour of dancing with you as well tonight, Miss Nash,” he said, his gaze averting to her friend.

Catherine’s serious look faded at this request. “Thank you, I would be delighted, Mr. Stringer,” she replied, seemingly with genuine pleasure as she procured her dance card to add his name.

It was a very proper invitation, but it brought Charlotte surprisingly little joy.

Nor did her mood brighten when she discovered the reason Catherine had drawn her away from her object was to obtain Charlotte’s assistance with the troubles of _her_ heart. It appeared Mr. Rowley had not made clear just how fond he was of Miss Nash, and she desired Charlotte’s judgement on the matter. As flattering as Catherine’s comments on her greater observational skills were, Charlotte did not see how she, with her very limited acquaintance with Mr. Rowley, could be of much help.

“You are much better acquainted with him than I,” Charlotte said. “It is his behaviour towards you that will tell you whether he genuinely has feelings for you.”

“But you know so much more about these things than I do, Charlotte. You have been out for so many years more,” Catherine said in such an innocent way that Charlotte tried not to begrudge her deeming three years to be ‘so many’.

On consideration, she could not help but note that while she waited for Lady Susan’s guidance in the matters of her own heart, Catherine had placed her as much the same figure for herself. It made her strangely want to laugh.

But, she reassured herself, it was not quite the same; after all, she was not planning to ask Lady Susan whether James had feelings for her—for she had already determined he had not—and she only wanted instruction on how best to put an end to the strange feelings their arrangement had awoken within herself while they had to maintain the charade.

All the same, she felt she could not refuse and presented herself as a willing listener as Catherine related the whole of Mr. Rowley’s complicated history with his overbearing mother.

Although Catherine did not monopolise her time entirely, she found herself going between so many acquaintances to meet that she did not see James again until he came to find her for the first dance. She said goodbye to Lord Dolphinton, who had to find his partner, and let James lead her to the floor.

As they took their places, the remembrance of her insistence that they limit their dancing was high in her mind. She assumed James would ask her for a second dance as was entirely proper between a betrothed couple, and perhaps a third would not be too conspicuous, but any more than that would set tongues wagging. 

“I hope you are not too disappointed,” he said as they started dancing.

“Disappointed?” she repeated in surprise, a sudden worry that he could read her thoughts coming over her.

“To not dance the first with Lord Dolphinton,” he replied, a teasing smile on his face.

Charlotte laughed then. “I fear if that had been my desire, I would certainly have been disappointed—I don’t believe anyone could have prised his first dance away from Aunt Sophia.”

His expression turned playful when his gaze flittered above her head. “Very true. Though I’m afraid Mrs. Osbourne does not appear to be enjoying her dance as much as one might have expected.”

“No?” Charlotte said. The requirements of the dance meant she was not at the right angle to see her aunt without falling out of step so she looked to her partner to enlighten her.

“She seems rather preoccupied with staring at Mr. Richard Osbourne’s dance partner.”

Charlotte’s mouth opened wide in surprise. “He is dancing with Mrs. Brown?” she guessed excitedly.

“He is indeed.”

Finally, they turned so Charlotte could see the confirmation of this herself. “Do you know,” Charlotte said in a conspiring manner, “Olivia said Agnes had not received an invite until two days after the dinner party. And her invite came especially from Mr. Osbourne, not his daughter, who sent all the other invitations.”

James did not seem to find this piece of information nearly so exciting as Charlotte and Olivia had. “That seems natural considering she is not acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont.”

“Well, no, she is not,” Charlotte had to agree. “But that she received an invitation at all—and so late!—surely has some meaning.”

“And can that explanation not be that the invitation was made out of politeness, considering everyone else at the dinner party was attending the ball and talked much of it? Or is that not exciting enough?” he added teasingly when Charlotte hesitated to respond.

“Is it so bad to wonder if Mr. Osbourne finds himself in love?”

“No, but—one meeting is rarely enough for any man to find himself in love.”

“Or for any woman,” Charlotte said and he nodded in agreement. She considered James thoughtfully as they followed the steps of the dance. “How long did it take you?”

She remembered Mr. Stringer to be a good dancer, but his steps faltered as he made the necessary turn. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“When you were in love with Mrs. Kent?”

“Oh. Truthfully, I can hardly remember now,” he said, looking surprised at the question. “Though I don’t think it took half as long as falling out of it.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, a strange smile on her face, understanding just that feeling. She frowned suddenly then at the impertinence of her question. “I’m sorry, I should not have asked you that. I’m afraid I have been quite curious about her since our meeting last night,” she admitted. “But I do not wish to cause you pain.”

“I believe my betrothed is entitled to the question,” he said, the smile on his face suggesting no pain had been caused.

But still, she felt she did want to know the serious answer. “Truly though, James. You were not upset to see her again?”

“No. I was taken by surprise, but not upset.—Charlotte, don’t tell me you think I have spent all day languishing over her reappearance.”

“Not languishing, no. But it did seem that meeting her affected you.”

“I suppose it did,” he said slowly. “But not in any way that should cause you concern. I—“

He fell silent as the dance came to an end and the other dancers broke into applause, making any speech inaudible. They both joined in with the applause, but though the rest began to move James seemed hesitant. “Charlotte, are you engaged for the next dance?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted, unsure whether she was glad of it or not at the sudden intent look in his eyes. “I am to dance with Lord Dolphinton. Besides, you know what people will say if we stood up together for two dances in a row,” she reminded him, even though it did not feel like as strong a reasoning as it once had.

“Of course,” he nodded. “But I hope we can dance again later in the evening?”

She only had time to give her agreement before Lord Dolphinton arrived to claim Miss Heywood’s hand for the next dance.

She did not see Mr. Stringer as she danced with Lord Dolphinton, but he was a fixture on the dance floor after that. When she next danced with Robert, she saw him dancing with Jane. Her dances that followed were with Mr. Hunt and Mr. Whitfield and James danced both, first with Catherine and then with a rather striking young lady with whom Charlotte was not acquainted.

Her next dance was with Mr. Beaumont, and Charlotte told herself her curiosity to speak to James again was borne purely from seeing him now on the floor with her Aunt Sophia, and concern as to what her aunt might say, rather than an interest in his earlier mysterious dance partner. She was surprised to find herself wishing to be dancing with Lord Dolphinton or even Mr. Whitfield at that moment, for though Mr. Beaumont was a very graceful dancer, he was largely silent, and the quiet gave her too much time to ponder.

Thankfully, she was not engaged for the next dance, so Charlotte headed to the refreshment table. She had only just quenched her thirst when Olivia found her, but her sister’s question was not so welcome as her appearance. “Charlotte, who was that girl Mr. Stringer danced with when you were dancing with Mr. Whitfield? The one in the blue dress with the golden hair?”

“Would you really say it was golden?” Charlotte remarked idly. “I would have called it flax.”

“Oh, no, certainly golden. I must learn where she bought that pretty muslin from.”

“Well, I am not acquainted with her. You will have to ask James.”

With her gaze downcast, Charlotte missed the way Olivia's eyes flickered to her with heightened interest. “I would have,” she said, “but he has been dancing. Which is very good of him of course, is just as a young man ought to do. “

“Yes, it is,” Charlotte agreed.

“I cannot see him on the floor now though,” Olivia said. “Do you know where he is?”

“How should I know?” Charlotte bit her lip a moment later, regretting her sharp tone. “He was dancing when I was last,” she said, more softly. “I suppose he must have gone elsewhere in the ballroom.”

Olivia observed her sister closely before nodding. “Yes, I suppose he must.”

Feeling uncertain at her sister’s tone, Charlotte could not help but say, “I see Robert is not dancing either.”

“You know Robert,” Olivia replied lightly, “He gets tired quickly. He went to the card table a few dances ago. I am surprised to see _you_ away from the floor so soon though. I’m sure you danced all night at the last ball.”

“I only wished for a rest.”

“Oh, there he is,” Olivia said suddenly, and waving in the other direction.

Charlotte had assumed she was still referring to Robert, who had perhaps returned from cards, and so was doubly surprised to see James approach.

His inquiry on whether they were enjoying themselves was ignored by Olivia, who asked him, “I am very glad to have found you, Mr. Stringer, for I have an important question.”

His brows drew close, but his expression lightened when he discovered this serious question merely referred to the owner of a certain muslin.

“That is Miss Carey,” James explained. “I am acquainted with her brother, though he spends most of his time in London now. I’m afraid I have no information to share regarding her muslin, but I would be happy to introduce you after the next dance.”

“Of course,” Olivia responded.

“And who are you dancing with next?” Charlotte asked in what she believed to be a light tone.

“I was hoping Mrs. Golding would do me the honour,” he replied, gallantly extending his hand to her.

Olivia smiled very prettily and accepted.

It was a gesture that should have made Charlotte happy. Her sister had mentioned that she did not get asked to dance half so much by the younger men now that she was married, and Olivia was clearly pleased by the attention. Furthermore, as Olivia was the last person she could suppose James to have an interest in courting after the end of their betrothal, his action could only be out of friendship.

And yet, when she watched them take to the floor, she had only an increasing sense of her own folly at insisting her fiancé not dance with her too often, and an impending dread of what the meaning behind it might be.

With a stern reminder to herself that she was letting her twisted feelings from their fake engagement get the best of her, Charlotte set out to make good on her promise to Catherine. She found Mr. Rowley speaking to Mr. Hunt which made it far easier for her to join their conversation and she only needed to drop one hint before Mr. Rowley had asked her to dance the next with him.

Buoyed by the success of the first part of her plan, Charlotte fully intended to turn their conversation to Miss Nash when they reached the dancefloor. However, even polite conversation was difficult when her eyes kept returning to James. She could not make out his current partner’s face very well from where they were standing, though she believed the girl to be one of the performers from the Hunt’s musicale, but James’ height made him more easily seen amidst the other dancers.

At one point the dancers turned in such a way that James caught her eye from across the ballroom. Charlotte brought a light smile to her lips, but he returned it with such a wide grin that she could not help but increase hers in return. Her happiness was short-lived though, for the dance required him to turn again and that brilliant smile was then bestowed on another lady.

Charlotte suddenly found herself in great need of some air.

As she had no imminent dancing engagements, for neither James nor Lord Dolphinton had specified a particular dance when they asked her to save them another, Charlotte felt it would be the perfect time to escape the crowd, but before she could go very far, Catherine found her to inquire what she had learned of Mr. Rowley’s intentions. This was sadly very little but it took some time to relate this in such a way that stressed the failure there was entirely with Charlotte herself and not Mr. Rowley’s potential feelings.

It was only after that long conversation did she find herself at liberty and Charlotte purposely avoided eye contact with anyone until she saw the first means of escape—the open panelled doors that lead onto the balcony.

She took a deep breath as soon as the cool air hit her face, the loud noise of the ballroom dimming with each step she took. As sophisticated as the interior of the ballroom had been, Charlotte found she preferred the subtle elegance of the large dark balcony that encompassed the whole wall, dipping and curving to create small private spaces lined by some of the largest ferns she had ever seen outside the finest London gardens. Although the balcony was not deserted, it was easy enough for Charlotte to find a private space to collect herself.

The group of four she had walked past were talking quietly enough that she only heard the murmurs of conversation rather than specifics, which was best for her intent. She’d had plenty of practice growing up in such a busy household to learn how to think despite the noise of her boisterous siblings, but when she had really needed some quiet reflection there had always been a solitary spot on the farm available. 

She was solitary now, but her location was nothing like the retreats she found back in Willingdon. Despite the concessions to greenery that helped separate her from the other guests, the ferns were so unlike anything on the farm it only served to emphasise how different the place she found herself in was. And yet, she knew some of her fondness for the memory of Willingdon was because it was just that—a memory—and she knew barely a month after she returned to her parent’s roof she would be wondering when she could next leave it. 

The thought reminded her that her return to farm life may come quicker than she had been planning because how long could they continue this fake engagement? They had agreed on a few months, which had passed already. James had made no mention of bringing their arrangement to a close, but perhaps he was waiting for her to do so since it had been her idea in the first place—after all, the connection was still useful to him until he had obtained all the investment required. But he had made great strides in that department since their ruse began, so the date could not be far away.

Soon, James would have to return to being only her friend—he would return to being only Mr. Stringer. And Charlotte had a sudden, terrible feeling it was that reality that was causing her the most bother.

She took another deep breath, trying to collect herself once more. Her foolhardy scheme was playing with her emotions, that was all. She needed only to clear her mind and then she would return to the ball perfectly rational once more. 

Her gaze flickered upwards to the moon, bright and full as it shone over the city. The group on the other side of the ferns seemed to have left, for instead of murmurings she heard only the new song being played in the ballroom. Charlotte found herself starting to sway to the familiar tune until she was utterly taken off guard to hear her name called.

“Charlotte?”

“James!” Her skirt billowed around her as she spun to face him, her hand lifting to her chest in surprise.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said apologetically.

“That’s alright. I didn’t hear you approaching.”

“I had started to wonder where you were. But,” he said, looking at the space around them, “if you would prefer to be alone…”

“No, you need not go. I only came out to catch my breath for a minute, but I fear I have stayed out too long. I am missing the dancing.”

“It is not over quite yet.”

“True, but I had wanted to waltz,” Charlotte admitted, a longing glance through the open doors to his side. She realised now the tune she had heard was the beginning of the waltz as she saw the dancers inside follow the motions.

“In that case,” he began, closing the distance between them and offering his hand, “would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Heywood?”

“But there will not be space to join the floor now,” she said in amusement.

“We have plenty of space here,” he replied.

She felt the strange fluttering in her chest return, this time more fervent than before as her eyes darted from his gloved palm to the dark sky behind him, but she found herself tentatively placing her hand in his.

Charlotte knew, betrothed or not, it was not quite proper to be dancing out here alone—but it was just a dance she told herself, the same dance everyone else was doing.

But as they followed the motions, it did not feel quite like any other dance. The moonlight caused her focus to be pulled solely to her partner, who was watching her with an intent look in his eyes.

“H-have you been enjoying the ball?” she asked, wondering at them both for not falling into their easy conversation as they usually did.

“Yes,” he replied easily. “I hope it has been to your satisfaction; I know how you were looking forward to it.”

“Yes, I have.”

“But you needed an escape?” he wondered.

“Not an escape, only—I felt very warm inside and wanted some fresh air,” she explained.

James nodded. “Are you sufficiently cooled now?”

“Y-yes,” Charlotte said. She certainly had been a minute ago before they began dancing. But now her cheeks were flushed and her hands felt very warm indeed where they rested on him, as if she could feel his strength beneath her despite his gloves and heavy jacket.

Searching for a safer subject, Charlotte asked, “How do you like Mr. Osbourne’s house?”

“It is very fine.”

His response, so plainly evasive, amused her. “Now, James, I know you must have more to your opinion than that. Especially in a house with so many features as this.”

“Tell me, have you been studying cornices again, Charlotte?” he teased, eliciting a mirthful laugh from his dance partner.

“Who can see them on ceilings as high as these?” she replied, drawing a laugh from him in turn.

“There is much I like about it,” he eventually admitted. “In many ways it is the kind of building I might dream of designing. But I don’t think I would like for it to be my home.”

“No?”

She turned then, and when she faced him again James looked thoughtful. “When I was younger I had a very different home to the one you have visited, Charlotte; we barely had two rooms between us. Space was something I aspired to and yet now I think there can be too much space in a home. You must think me very strange,” he continued in a self-conscious tone, but Charlotte immediately shook her head.

“Until the first time I left Willingdon I had never had a room to myself. If I had returned home after the first night that in itself would have been an adventure,” she said, laughing at herself while noting the smile that graced his lips. “As much as I enjoy many of the comforts I have been able to experience these last five years, I don’t believe they are the things that truly make a home. But I am sure when the time comes for you to build your own house, it will be just as it ought.”

He looked grateful, but admitted, “I believe that is still some way off.”

“Not so far away,” Charlotte said soothingly. “I have every faith you will meet—even exceed your ambitions.”

She hoped the statement would bring a smile to his face, but instead he looked away. “Yes, my ambitions,” he said ruefully.

“What is the matter? James?” she prompted when he did not answer her.

He let out a harsh breath. “Sometimes I fear I have spent so long working towards my ambitions that I have neglected what else is important.”

Charlotte frowned. “Anyone could see how much you care for your father—how much you do for him—“

“That is not what I am referring to.”

“Then what?”

His movements slowed as he debated his speech, and the tight set of his face drew her attention so that Charlotte forgot to follow his lead and stumbled, her face falling right into his chest.

He was apologising as Charlotte looked up, her face warm from embarrassment and the heat she had just felt from his chest.

“No, it was my mistake,” she assured him, shaking her head while trying to ignore the steady grip his hand had on her waist.

Her chest was still very close to his—closer than even the intimate position of the waltz garnered; Charlotte felt a pulsing in her fingers and she could not fathom if it was her heartbeat or his.

Her misstep had caused one of her curls to come loose from her coiffure and fall down the centre of her face, but she was in no rush to move either of her hands to put it right. However, James seemed to think differently and lifted his hand from her waist to gently brush the lock of hair out of her eyes. When his glove grazed the corner of her ear Charlotte shivered.

“Charlotte,” he said, the heaviness to his voice intensifying the usually mellow edges of his country accent.

Her gaze flickered to his lips, which seemed to be slowly lowering and Charlotte found herself tilting her head back in invitation.

Then, a sudden burst of applause from inside signalling the end of the dance broke through the haze that had enveloped her. Charlotte took an unsteady step backwards, bringing her hands to clutch each other tightly in front of her waist. 

“I’m sorry—I slipped,” she said even though this was evidently unnecessary. 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said in an indecipherable tone.

“I—” Charlotte began, noting the intent look in his eyes and took a deep breath. “I said I would dance again with Lord Dolphinton, he must be looking for me,” she said in a rush.

Then, after giving him a most inelegant curtsey, she dashed into the ballroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I originally envisaged the balcony dance scene for my first Stringer/Heywood fanfic, [Does Enchantment Pour Out of Every Door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901342)! As that fic came together I decided it didn’t fit anymore, but I didn’t want to part with it entirely so I saved it as a draft and eventually revised it for this.   
> Hope you enjoyed the update! 💕


	8. Chapter 8

Never one to shy away from sharing her opinion, Lady Susan had become uncharacteristically silent as Charlotte progressed through her tale explaining the course of her fake engagement. However, when Charlotte reached the point in her story where she abruptly left Mr. Stringer on the balcony at the ball, the lady let out a ‘tsk’ over the rim of her teacup.

“Lying, dear?”

“It was not a lie!” Charlotte said hotly, her cheeks flushed in part from the accusation and from the recollection of how close she had been to kissing James. Although she had begun relating her story from her seat, at some point she had found herself pacing the length of the parlour. Now, she leant back against the mantle and met Lady Susan’s heavy stare with one of her own. “I really had promised Lord Dolphinton I would dance with him again.”

“And when you returned to the ballroom was Lord Dolphinton searching desperately for you?” Lady Susan said with a sarcastic air.

Charlotte’s lips twisted uncomfortably. “You know he was not.” In fact, he had been leading another lady onto the dancefloor, not that it had made any difference to Charlotte at the time. Although fully intending to honour her promise to the Lord, she had certainly been in no rush. 

“And how did the rest of the evening fare?” Lady Susan asked.

* * *

After leaving James on the balcony, Charlotte had availed herself of the refreshment table before returning to Miss Nash’s side. Thankfully Catherine was too distracted with the study of Mr. Rowley’s next two dances—in particular his very eligible dance partners—to notice Miss Heywood could only offer a thoughtful hum here and there in response to her musings. By the time Miss Nash noticed her friend’s inattention Charlotte had managed to regain some composure and she told Catherine that she was merely feeling a little tired, but was certain her spirits would rally. Rally they did, for not only did Charlotte return to the floor for the majority of the remaining dances, but she also engaged in spirited conversation with nearly every present member of her acquaintance—with the exception of her betrothed, that is. 

The first time she saw James after the balcony he was in conversation with Mr. Hunt, with his back to her. Charlotte only allowed herself to note how strange it was that she should be able to confidently name the back of his head before she returned her attention to her dance partner Mr. Rowley for she could not fail Catherine twice—nor did she; Charlotte finished the dance certain that whatever hold Mr. Rowley’s mother may have over him, it had not removed a marked preference for Miss Nash. While relating this information to Catherine, Charlotte noted Mr. Stringer on the dancefloor with the golden-haired owner of the much-coveted blue muslin—Miss Carey—but she immediately turned her eyes away from the pair before she could study the niceties of their behaviour.

Only a few seconds later, however, her gaze had drifted back. Her heart seemed quite full in her chest as she noted that James looked perfectly at ease dancing with Miss Carey. She was not jealous though, she told herself firmly, for she had danced her agreed two dances with her betrothed and would remain steadfast on desiring no more.

Although if they had not been seen on the balcony (which she fervently hoped was the case) then to the eyes of the world they had only danced once, and perhaps they should dance again, if only for appearance’s sake. For them to have both danced twice with others, but _not_ their betrothed, might spark some unwanted rumours. But, to dance again would require them to converse privately that evening and even if an audience negated the likelihood of what had so very nearly taken place on the balcony from occurring, Charlotte did not trust herself. No, they must not dance again, but they must look to be having a splendid time. 

Certainly, as he danced with Miss Carey, Charlotte did not think anyone could have such concerns over whether Mr. Stringer was enjoying himself. He appeared so naturally happy that he could not be very concerned about Charlotte running from him. This was pleasing for she did not want him to worry.

“Charlotte?” Catherine prompted since Miss Heywood had stopped mid-sentence to stare at the dancing couple, her look far more mournful than she realised. “Surely you are not worried.”

“Worried?” Charlotte took a moment to better regulate her pitch before continuing, “No, of course not. Don’t be silly.”

Catherine nodded in agreement. “It would be very silly indeed. Why, it is so plain how much James favours you above any woman.”

“Is it?” Charlotte asked, hoping she sounded indifferent. Perhaps he had said something to Catherine when they had danced, just as she had gleaned some of Mr. Rowley’s sentiments in theirs. 

“Why, of course. If only Mr. Rowley was so free with his looks then I would not be so anxious.”

Charlotte let out a sound that she hoped conveyed sympathy, even as she tamped down on a sudden feeling of disappointment. If all Catherine noted were looks then that was of no importance; of course James had sometimes looked like he loved Charlotte. He had simply been playing the part of her betrothed very well. Too well.

They had merely been carried away by all their play-acting and the romance of a moonlit dance, that was all. A little time apart would see them right. 

With this idea in mind, it was a relief to Charlotte that couples were not seated near one another when the time came for dinner. With the party being so large she could not even see where he was sat, and though it was natural she should wonder at who he might be sat near—for she did not want him to be forced to spend the meal near someone with poor conversation—she was glad to have some more time apart in which she could set her mind to other subjects. Indeed, she had never been more grateful for Mr. Whitfield’s ability to carry a conversation almost single-handedly. 

By the time she saw Mr. Stringer again at the end of the evening, she felt she was prepared for whatever he might ask her. She even had an explanation ready, if he was bold enough to broach the subject of their almost kiss about how they had gotten carried away—but he did not mention it. He only asked her if she had enjoyed the ball before handing her into the carriage. If he had then avoided speaking directly to her inside the carriage Charlotte might have supposed him to be hurt, but he seemed just like himself. Perhaps a little quiet but he was never the kind to monopolise a conversation, especially when amongst other chattier companions, like Robert. Mr. Stringer’s quieter manner could easily be put down to tiredness at the late hour. 

By the time they had reached his house Charlotte briefly wished she could say more, but knowing nothing of importance could be discussed in front of her sister and brother-in-law, she only wished James goodnight. 

She woke the following morning feeling unsatisfied, and so wrote him a missive wishing him well for the important meeting he had that evening as she had forgotten to say so at the ball. She directed it be delivered to his office so that she could be sure he would see it beforehand in case he did not return home. She was gratified that his response came before lunch; he thanked her for the good wishes and hoped she was not too tired from the ball, but his note had no other mention of last night. His tone was perfectly cordial, matching her note very well, but Charlotte found herself still disappointed.

It was another two days before Lady Susan’s visit, and that time passed with no further word from Mr. Stringer. Though they sometimes went such a period without seeing each other, it had become less frequent, and it had been at least a month since they had gone so long without corresponding. She would have at least liked to have heard how the meeting went, but it was likely he was busy and Charlotte supposed the onus should be on her to write first since his had been the last message. However, she did not fully trust herself to write; more than the outcome of the meeting she wanted to know what he thought of their arrangement, but she had not wished to broach that subject until she met with Lady Susan and was able to air all of her situation. 

* * *

After Charlotte finished her summary of what little had happened since her dance with Mr. Stringer on the balcony, she looked at Lady Susan expectantly. “Well?” she prompted when the lady said nothing.

Lady Susan looked reflective for a moment. Finally, she said, “My dear, I fail to see the problem. What could be the matter with being in love with one’s fiancé?”

Charlotte’s response was immediate. “Not in love! It is only—” She cut herself off, her chest growing tight as she struggled to formulate her words. “To be sure, Mr. Stringer is a very handsome man,” she began carefully.

“Yes, you seemed to think it important to the story many times,” Lady Susan said, an amused lilt to her voice.

Her cheeks warmed at that, but she persevered, “And I believe spending all this time together has confused my feelings.”

“Certainly it is a possibility,” Lady Susan agreed. “But might your continued company not have also changed your feelings?” 

“Well—“ Charlotte argued. “I always thought well of him,” she said, her voice sounding almost childish to her ears. “He is a friend.”

Lady Susan nodded. “And now that circumstance has caused you to be on more intimate terms, is it so impossible that friendship should turn to love? Surely nothing could be more natural.”

“But I— “ Charlotte faltered, starting to walk up and down in front of the mantlepiece. 

“Really, Charlotte. You are not a young girl anymore, you need not protest so much. Besides, it sounds like Mr. Stringer is much in the same way as yourself.”

Charlotte’s pacing stopped immediately. “You think so?”

“The man nearly kissed you.”

“Yes, but—perhaps he was caught up in the moment, as I was.”

“And is that all it was?” Lady Susan said slowly. When Charlotte had no immediate answer, Lady Susan continued, “Tell me, you say that it is merely your more frequent meetings affecting you, but you have not seen him since the night of the ball. Then, has your mind cleared with his absence?”

Charlotte inhaled sharply at this for, in fact, the opposite was true. She had kept herself busy since the ball, writing letters and looking after her nephews, going to the Pump Rooms with Aunt Sophia, shopping with Olivia and walking with Miss Nash. But in that time she missed her trips to the office—and she had missed him.

“But I had no intention of falling in love!” she cried.

“Ah,” Lady Susan said sagely. “That is always when it happens.”

And then, letting out a distressed sound between her pursed lips Charlotte flopped onto the chaise and put her head in her hands.

Understanding the truth of her own feelings was, to be sure, an important step on the path to happiness. But Charlotte realised once Lady Susan had said goodbye, the much larger step was what to do next. 

If she had never thought of this ridiculous scheme perhaps over time their friendship may have grown more intimate naturally and James may have even wanted to court her. But now, as far as the world was concerned, they were already betrothed and yet still so far from reaching the altar. And it was all her doing. 

She was not so naïve to think he would not have kissed her had they not been interrupted that night. Charlotte could not forget the darkened look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze in the stark moonlight. 

But one kiss—especially one _almost_ -kiss—did not give her any certainty that Mr. Stringer’s feelings had undergone the same changes as her own. 

Unfortunately, the only way she could gain that certainty was to have a frank conversation with Mr. Stringer, not unlike the one they had shared when she had first put forward her proposal. 

And since, like that afternoon, she was assured of solace in the Golding house for some time yet, she decided to see if James was available to visit her. Robert was at work, while Olivia had taken Harry and David to visit Aunt Sophia and Uncle Cecil, with their nurse’s assistance. Charlotte had promised to join them at Laura Place after Lady Susan’s visit ended, and, with high hopes of having a settled mind after the meeting, she had even brought down her bonnet, gloves, and reticule in readiness to make a swift departure. However, with her newfound resolve, she would much rather use her time to meet James; with any luck, he would be able to come to the house, and if not she could go to the office to see him instead. 

It was perhaps not the safest conversation to have in his place of work, but at least they could retreat to the privacy of his office; if they seemed likely to be overheard they could even go for a walk and find a quiet spot to speak privately. 

She must word her message very carefully though. If she insisted too strongly on meeting that very afternoon while still being vague, he might worry and leave the office in a hurry—perhaps even tell one of the men the reason he was leaving was to see her, and she did not wish to draw attention to the meeting. But, if she did not convey any sense of urgency then he might see no need to meet today and suggest tomorrow, perhaps thinking that it would be convenient enough to meet after she had taken his father for their regular walk. But, even if James contrived that they spoke privately, she would not feel easy to have this conversation with his father in the next room. Besides, she could not imagine going on that walk with the elder Mr. Stringer in her current affected state. He was still very sharp despite his age, and would surely notice her distraction—and she could hardly take him into her confidence. 

Charlotte put her pen to paper and started writing, deciding to help mark the importance of this letter by changing her usual style and including a form of address at the top. A moment later she stopped and stared with an open mouth in surprise at what she had written.

_Dear James,_

She did not know exactly when she had started to think of him more as James than Mr. Stringer, but she supposed calling him by his given name so often was bound to cause the change. Still, _‘Dear James’_ was too intimate to send, but surely she could write _‘Dear Mr. Stringer’_ as she had intended; that sounded perfectly friendly without being improper. 

Of course, Charlotte supposed, they had left the usual stands of propriety behind the moment they embarked on this scheme, but she had no time to reflect on that now.

Charlotte brought a fresh sheet of paper to the top of her pile and started writing,

_Dearest Mr. Stringer,_

_I hope_

The word hope was then followed by a drop of ink from her quill as Charlotte stared in horror at what she had written. _Dearest_! She certainly could not send him that.

With an audible sigh, she pushed the incriminating words to the side and began again, this time forgoing all thought of changing her style to include an address. 

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have been giving some thought to our arrangement and thought we should meet. I know you must be very busy, but I would be much obliged if you were able to visit before supper. If you cannot I am happy to_

But Charlotte never did write just what she was happy to do, for while debating her phrasing of the offer to visit his office, she was interrupted by a knock on the door to the parlour and discovered a letter had arrived for her.

She took it from the footman gratefully but with some surprise for she could not think who it might be. The most frequent sender of notes that did not arrive by post was James, but this was not his hand; neither was it Miss Nash’s, the second-most likely sender. The scrawl that said only her name on the envelope was so rarely seen by her it took Charlotte a moment to recognise it was Robert’s hand. She spared a moment to wonder why he would be sending a note home addressed to her rather than her sister before tearing the envelope open.

_Dear Charlotte,_

_No wish to alarm you, but one of the boys was at Milsom Street earlier when there was an accident at the building site and James was injured. Apparently not serious and James told him not to trouble me or you, but I thought you ought to know._

_See you at dinner._

_Your affectionate brother,_

_Robert_

Charlotte gasped, bolting upright with such haste that her chair nearly toppled over. She took hold of her nearby gloves and reticule and had almost exited the parlour before realising she couldn’t leave her incriminating half-written letters scattered on the table. She scooped the offending papers into her reticule and crumpled them in to fit but did not wait to fasten her bonnet before running into the hall, hastily donning her spencer jacket as she dictated a message for her sister to the butler and rushing out the door.

Despite Robert’s statement that it wasn’t serious, she could not help but fear the worst. Surely it must have been a terrible scene for one of the boys that worked under Robert to have not only heard it from another street but to have thought it necessary to ensure Mr. Stringer’s welfare on Robert’s behalf before returning to work. 

It might be supposed that Charlotte’s normally rational mind should have reminded her that natural curiosity, if not a sense of compassion for one’s fellow man, might cause anyone to investigate such a situation, regardless of whether they were acquainted with the interested party or not. However, when a heroine who is very fond of reading learns that, after weeks of denying her true feelings for him, the object of her affection has suddenly been injured, one must excuse her for imagining the young man to be on his deathbed.

By the time she reached the building site, the air left Charlotte’s lungs in a rush. In part, because of the swift pace she had maintained, but also at the unexpected sight before her.

Unexpected because, despite the horrors she had been starting to picture on her brisk walk, everything looked just as it ought.

The building was all in one piece, the only gaps of incomplete work as expected from when she had visited last week while the men looked to be going about their usual business. There was a heap of building materials at the other end of the street that was far more untidy than Mr. Robinson normally kept the site, but Charlotte supposed this sort of work would get messy at times and two men seemed to be trying to make some order out of it. 

The only thing that seemed particularly out of place was, in fact, her.

The workers who had noticed her had started to stare and she supposed she could not blame them for it likely was very odd to see a lady suddenly dash onto the street and stop in her tracks—their Master’s fiancée no less—to take deep breaths to recover herself.

Her chest felt tight, and her cheeks warm but there was little she could do to aid herself. Her gloves were still in her hand, having never remembered to put them on as one terrible scenario after another ran through her mind, and she did not dare remove her jacket and draw even more unwanted attention to herself.

Scanning the workers for those she knew by name, Charlotte was glad to spot Mr. Robinson shouting up some instructions to a man on the platform nearest her. 

“Mr. Robinson!” she called, taking the few steps needed to reach him.

He turned in time for her to see the confused frown on his face. “Miss Heywood?” The furrow in his brows deepened as he studied her. “Is anything the matter?”

“That is my question for you! Robert sent word that there was an accident—that James was injured.”

“Oh.” His expression softened. “It is nothing to concern yourself, Miss.”

“But there was an accident, was there not?”

“Only a very minor one.” Recognising that Charlotte was plainly unsatisfied by this, Mr. Robinson continued, “We received a delivery this afternoon of bricks and stone and many other building materials.”

Charlotte frowned. “But from what James has said I thought there were already enough supplies for completing the structure. Surely the only new materials needed now can be for the interior?”

Mr. Robinson was quite impressed by this astuteness, but Charlotte, too impatient to understand what had transpired, did not notice this minor alteration to his countenance. “Exactly, Miss. We were expecting other materials for the fittings, not what we received. While James was trying to explain this to the man who had brought the delivery, it transpired he had not secured his cargo well and the materials came down on the pair of them.”

Charlotte gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “They were not crushed!”

“Oh no,” Mr. Robinson hastened to assure her. “They both managed to jump out of the way in time, Miss, but James was partial grazed on his side. The doctor said only one cut was deep, the rest all scratches. - But he thought they would all heal soon enough,” he continued in a reassuring tone at Charlotte’s still concerned look.

Charlotte nodded, glad that a doctor had been called, but still somewhat shaken by the mental images she had created of the accident. “And the doctor treated his injuries?”

Mr. Robinson hesitated. “As they weren’t serious, James said he would take care of the dressings himself. The doctor had been on his way to another call—for a birth—when Thomas found him, so he did not want to delay any further.”

Charlotte frowned at this explanation. “So has James gone home?”

“No, Miss. He’s gone to the office.”

“The office?” she repeated, incredulous.

“He went to find confirmation of the original order to send to the trader.”

“But he should rest even if it is not very serious—surely someone else can look through the orders.”

“Aye, Miss,” Mr. Robinson agreed. “I did try to tell him that I could see to it, but James insisted. I think you might fare better at convincing him if you are able to go.”

Charlotte was less certain, but she was certainly going to try.

By the time she had reached the office, her fear had been overtaken by irritation.

That irritation was the excuse she would have used for opening the door to the main building without stopping to knock—though she soon realised it would not have made any difference for the downstairs was empty. 

This should not have come as such a surprise to Miss Heywood for on her walk from the building site she had passed four familiar faces from the office. However, so intent had she been on finding her betrothed that Charlotte had paid little notice to the people she passed on the street. The men in question had had no such difficulty in spotting her, but they did not attempt to make themselves known to her. The sight of their master’s fiancée, who normally had such a sweet countenance, storming in the direction from whence they came meant they could only think Mr. Stringer had angered her in some way and they were all very glad he had just set them tasks away from the office so they would not be present for the scolding that must be about to take place.

Despite the quiet downstairs, Charlotte could hear footsteps in the office upstairs and she headed in that direction. It seemed her footsteps could be heard as well, for before she had reached the upper landing James called out, expressing surprise that his men were returned already.

“They are not here.”

She heard his movements stop abruptly, before James said, “Charlotte?”

Assuming this was enough for her to enter, Charlotte pushed open the door finding it unlocked as well.

Once more she found James with a cloth trying to clean himself, only this time she was too focused on the angry red lines marking his forearm to pay any heed to his dishevelled appearance. Part of her wanted to run the few paces to him and take him in her arms, but she focused on her anger to keep herself in check.

James frowned as he studied her. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Apparently not,” Charlotte said, hoping her voice sounded steady even though an ugly gash on his upper arm, apparent through a slash in his shirt sleeve, upset her. “According to Robert’s note, you did not want either of us to know.”

James sighed, hanging his head.

“What will your men have thought that you were hurt and your betrothed not informed?”

“They will have thought that it was sensible of me not to worry you for no reason. As you can see,” James said, gesturing to himself, “there is no material damage.”

Charlotte was inclined to argue this point considering the discolouration to his formerly light grey waistcoat, even if the small red flecks of blood were outnumbered by beige streaks of dirt, but James continued, “It was more important to correct the mix-up. Now that I have sent the information, I am tending to them.” He held up the cloth in his hand as if to stress his point.

“And you intend to dress your wounds yourself?” Charlotte said, unable to keep a note of indignation from keeping into her voice.

“I intended to ask Mrs. Gibbs, but I—I did not wish to worry my father so I thought I should clean them up a little first.”

“No, of course not,” Charlotte said, softening. “But I am here now, so I can see to them.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I am perfectly capable of doing a few dressings. I am not squeamish,” she said defiantly.

“I didn’t suppose you were,” he said, apparently genuine.

But he looked about to continue, so before he could Charlotte said, “Then as I am here there is no reason for me not to look at them. Sit down,” she ordered, moving further into the room and putting her gloves and reticule on the desk.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself—“

“Sit!”

James looked startled by the sudden force in her tone, its fervour taking Charlotte herself somewhat by surprise. But she did not acknowledge it, only unfastening her jacket so she could move her arms more freely, and James eventually acquiesced, moving his chair away from the desk and taking a seat. 

She went to the bowl he had been using, only to note with a frown that the water had grown a murky colour. When she said she would refresh the water, he seemed prepared to offer but must have decided against it at whatever look he saw in her eyes, instead advising her of the location of a bottle of ointment she could use for the dressing.

The time that was required to refresh the water and find the bottle was beneficial in calming her racing heart. She had seen James and now that the shock of his injuries was over she could be rational again. 

She did not like to see him hurt, but she had seen far worse over the years. Although the injury to his upper arm looked particularly nasty, the rest were indeed small cuts. And he would not have been walking so easily or so quick to speak if they were causing him any serious pain. No man could last upright for long if he had been deeply wounded, no matter how proud. And she did not think James was a particularly proud man. She supposed he might not like to show hurt in front of his workers, but he would have had no need to act less injured than he was when he had thought himself alone in his office.

Charlotte felt more like herself when she returned to him; her heart did not flutter painfully when she saw his injured arm again. If anything, the fact that he was prodding some of his injuries with a curious look rather than having languished back in his chair once she had made him sit seemed only to prove her earlier thoughts.

“Thank you, Charlotte, I am much obliged to you,” he said, as she set the bowl on the edge of the desk nearest to him. 

She smiled lightly, not yet trusting herself to respond in jest. She retrieved the cloth he had been using and frowned when she saw it, already well-stained with blood and dirt. “Do you have another?” she asked. 

He shook his head, before offering, “I have a handkerchief you could use. In my jacket pocket.”

Charlotte moved to where his jacket was dropped carelessly onto a side table. 

“I suppose you were not wearing your jacket when the accident happened?” she said, noting its clean and unscathed appearance as she unfolded the garment.

“I am afraid not. A shame, since I think it might not have torn so easily as my shirt, but I would not like to replace it so perhaps it is just as well.”

Charlotte smiled along with this explanation, though she had not thought long on why he might have been at the site without wearing his jacket when she found the pocket and pulled out not only a handkerchief, but a long thin strand of fabric—no, not fabric, she realised.

A ribbon.

She stared at it closely. _Her ribbon?_ she wondered, noting its lilac colour.

With a start she realised that it was indeed the ribbon she thought she had misplaced; it had been the ribbon she had used to tie the architectural plans she had stayed up late to draw and brought to Mr. Stringer all those weeks ago. 

“Charlotte?” she heard him call, no doubt confused by her silence. 

She turned to face him, just as he did the same; his height meant he did not need to lean over the side of the chair for his eyes to meet hers. She noticed the moment his gaze dropped from her face to the item held aloft in her left hand. 

“Oh! Yes, that is yours,” he said quickly. 

“I could not think where I had left it; I had forgotten I brought it with my sketches.”

“Yes, I—I meant to return it to you,” he said, turning away from her again. 

Charlotte nodded. She put the jacket back down and returned to the desk, placing the ribbon next to her gloves before unfolding the handkerchief.

His countenance was almost severe as he stared at the ground while she looked after the cuts within easy reach on the back of his hand, working up from his elbow to his forearm. They seemed minor, but when he made no attempt to speak she wondered if he was guarding himself against the pain. 

“I am not hurting you, I hope,” she said.

“No.” 

“What will you tell your father?”

He glanced up and saw her curious look, his face lightening. “The truth—of a kind,” he said. “I only wished him not to see the worst of it. My jacket would hide it, but I did not want to stain it—Not that my father has no stomach for such things, I am sure he has seen far worse in his many years working, but…” James glanced around, seemingly at a loss to explain.

“Of course it would upset him to see you so,” Charlotte said easily. “He loves you, he would not wish to see you hurt.” She felt his eyes flicker to her face, but she ignored them, in favour of moving on to the next cut. “Do you have a change of clothes here? Or a jacket you could borrow?” When he replied in the negative, she asked, “Have you sent word home of your injury?”

“No, I thought—” He paused, seeming to deliberate. “I thought they might think my sending a warning was because there was reason to worry.”

“And is that why you did not wish to inform me or Robert?” Charlotte said unable to help asking the question even if it was veering away from the topic at hand. She was a little confused when James hesitated instead of responding easily.

But though he did not meet her eyes, he said evenly, “Yes. As you can see, no harm done.”

“I would hardly say _no_ harm,” she said, swiping at the next cut slightly more vigorously. When he winced she was torn between vindication and remorse for having exacerbated his pain, even so momentarily. She applied the ointment more gently than before as she said, “Instead of writing to your father, why do you not write to Mrs. Gibbs? She seems a very level-headed lady. If you ask her, I’m sure she could send a change of clothes with a footman. Or at least arrange for your father to be occupied when you arrive so you have time to change before he sees you like this.”

“Yes. I should have thought of those,” he said, seeming more regretful than Charlotte thought the situation warranted.

“Well, you have had plenty to occupy your mind, with the accident and the mix-up. I’m sure you would have thought of it eventually.”

James nodded, sending a grateful smile in her direction, albeit a brief one. 

When Charlotte asked after the incorrect delivery, James confirmed he had found the details of the original order and had sent the boys downstairs to the site. The intention was for Owen to take the slip to Mr. Robinson and accompany him in speaking to the supplier, while the others could help tidy up since the unwanted materials were still cluttering up the site. 

Charlotte nodded as he relayed the information, pleased that he had not decided to go speak to the supplier himself directly and letting Mr. Robinson deal with the situation. 

She was on the verge of asking after whether this missed delivery would be a significant setback to their progress, but she hesitated when her gaze caught on the final wound left to treat. 

James had rolled his sleeve back as far as it would go, just above his elbow, and she had seen to all the minor cuts on his forearm and hand. But the remaining cut neared his shoulder and would not be easy to clean in his current state, even with the rip in that part of his sleeve. Even if she asked him to undo the fastenings on his shirt—and the thought of making such a request made her cheeks burn—she did not think he would be able to push the sleeve down far enough for her to see to the cut. But then the only alternative would be for him to entirely remove his waistcoat and then his shirt, and that thought made her pulse race. 

Her hesitation, prolonged as it was, could not escape his notice. James only required one look at where her eyes were focused to say, “I can ask Mrs. Gibbs to see to that one when I go home.”

“Nonsense. The longer you wait the more likely you will gain an infection.”

“Is that your professional medical opinion, Miss Heywood?” he said, though despite the attempted jest his voice did not hold the easiness it usually did.

“Really, James, it is best if I dress it now,” she said, feeling brave.

“Very well,” he said. Then he reached over with his other hand and tore open the rip in the shirt as wide as he could.

Charlotte gasped. “Your shirt!”

“It is already ruined,” he said lightly. “Now you should be able to access the wound easily enough.”

“Er, yes,” Charlotte said. The opening now was perfectly wide enough and she was glad that he had found an easy solution to their problem. 

Really, she was.

“That will do very well,” Charlotte said brightly, before focusing on her task. When she had finished Charlotte noted that this one would require wrapping. “Just to be safe,” she said.

She looked down with a frown at the cloth in her hand, now just as discoloured as the first he had used.

“I don’t suppose you have another handkerchief?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“I have one,” Charlotte said, remembering she had her reticule with her.

As she picked up the bag from the desk, James protested that he did not want to ruin her handkerchief, but Charlotte told him this was of no concern.

She opened the clasp, confused as to what was stuffed full inside her small bag and reached in to pull out the offending items. It was only when the paper touched her hand that Charlotte realised what she was holding—the evidence of her attempts to write to James.

“What is it?”

His question startled her, making her drop the papers to the floor.

She quickly bent to retrieve them, but James had the advantage of being sitting down and therefore closer to the ground; she had not managed to put it into her hand to any of it before the papers were in his hand. 

She vainly hoped that he might see only the blank sheets, but the way his eyes lingered over one of them suggested otherwise.

“What is this, Charlotte?” Although the question was so similar to the one he had asked moments before, his tone was strikingly altered; his voice deepened, his gaze intent on the page.

She inhaled sharply and searched for some of the words that had been running in her mind since her talk with Lady Susan—since long before that if she was honest with herself.

If she was as wise as Catherine seemed to think her, she would simply say what she had wanted to discuss in the meeting she had been writing to request. 

Instead, she blurted out somewhat childishly, “That wasn’t for you.”

James blinked, his gaze moving to her face. “Am I then to assume you wrote ‘Dearest Mr. Stringer’ to my father?”

“No!” Charlotte flushed. “I...I can explain.”

“Yes?” His voice gave nothing away, which was no help for her indecision.

Charlotte inhaled. “I need to finish seeing to your wound first. To prevent infection.”

“Can you not explain at the same time?”

She nodded without looking at him. She focused on removing the handkerchief from her reticule and unfolding it carefully as she began, “I…”

Charlotte bit her lip as she carefully tied the cloth around his arm. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept focused on her task. She did not know whether her nerves were helped or hindered by his seeming reluctance to press her.

Once she finished tying the knot, she tried again, “I was writing to you because I thought it was time we discussed our arrangement again. I wanted…” But once more Charlotte struggled to express her thoughts. Although she had been hoping for a private meeting, now that the moment was here her courage was failing her. She should have had time to plan her words, and having none she could not think how best to say what she wanted.

To her surprise, he said, “Perhaps I should go first.”

Her gaze swiftly lifted from the floor to stare at him. “You?” 

James rubbed his hands together as he nodded. “There has been something on my mind recently that I have been wanting to speak to you about as well.” He stood abruptly, moving to the other side of the room before saying, “You asked me at the ball whether meeting Mrs. Kent affected me?”

Charlotte nodded awkwardly. “Yes.”

“Once I had recovered from my shock I would have been happy to see her looking well, but when she wished us joy on our upcoming wedding it only served to remind me that there was nothing to truly wish me joy for—and how much I wished that it were not the case.”

Charlotte kept her gaze to the floor, nodding again. She had noticed his awkwardness at the time and though she was relieved that there seemed nothing more regarding his thoughts on Mrs. Kent, the slightly mournful note to his final words concerned her.

“It has been on my mind since then,” he continued. “Since before then, if I am honest.”

“Was that why you did not have your jacket on?” Charlotte asked suddenly, her head rising as she made the connection in her mind.

James looked confused by this interruption. “Pardon?”

“You told me before that the more physical work at the site was good for relieving frustrations,” she explained. “You were at the site but not wearing your jacket; was that why?”

He blinked in surprise before nodding. “Yes, I—I didn’t go there for that purpose,” he said, off-hand. “Only to see how things were coming along. But while I was there I thought it might help take my mind off things.”

“And did it?”

His smile was half-amused, half-sad. “Not as much as the problems with the delivery did—or the accident.” 

Despite herself, Charlotte laughed. “No, I suppose that would be much more distracting.”

She watched his throat work before he said, “Charlotte, the reason I didn’t want to tell you about the accident was…the same reason I have not written since the other day.”

“It is?” That was not how she had expected him to finish that sentence. “I presumed you must have been busy,” she said, a sad, uncomfortable feeling in her chest.

“Not exactly. You recall the day after the ball I had my meeting with my investors.” He waited for her to nod before continuing, “They are very happy with my progress and two of them decided to increase their portion. Mr. Osbourne came to the meeting and was convinced by what he heard to put forward the rest. There may yet be some difficulties—we shall have to see how this confusion with the delivery affects our schedule—but I am confident that we have secured more than enough finance to finish the project.”

“That is excellent news,” Charlotte said, feeling genuinely happy. Her smile soon dimmed though when she noticed he did not seem to share her joy at his success. 

He did not meet her eyes when he said, “It also means I am no longer in need of a fake fiancée.”

Charlotte’s throat constricted. “Oh.”

Just as abruptly as he had left her side, he returned to stand in front of her. Charlotte raised her head in time to meet his intent gaze as he said, “Charlotte, I know I should have told you directly, but I thought—I did not want to see you until I could think of a way to convince you why I might want a real fiancée.”

Charlotte’s breath caught in her chest as tears began to prick her eyes. “Truly?” she asked.

“Truly.”

She emitted a long relieved breath as she gave him a watery smile. Charlotte let her hand reach up to cup his cheek, as she had wanted to upon seeing him. “There is no convincing needed, my dear—dearest Mr. Stringer.”

His lips were on hers before she could say anything else—but what else was there to be said at that moment? His sweet kiss said all that was necessary and Charlotte had no mind to form words when his hand trailed down her face and neck—the sensation of the roughened edge of his palm against her bare skin far exceeding the delights her imagination had been able to conjure up—to rest at her waist, holding her tightly to him. 

When they broke apart, James was the first to find words again, though they were not the words she had expected. 

“Oh dear,” he said, expression grim.

“What?” Charlotte said, her lips still tingling.

“I’m afraid I have ruined your dress.”

Charlotte looked down and saw her white dress was now stained across the front and side; not so much with blood, for she had cleaned that from his arms and any that was his clothes had dried, but the dust and grime on his waistcoat had transferred to her muslin. She was unsure if all of it would wash off and she certainly would not be able to hide it on her way home with only her spencer jacket to put over it. Not that she particularly minded, under the circumstances.

She discovered James agreed with this sentiment when he said, “I’ll buy you a new one,” before leaning down to kiss her again.

She murmured her agreement against his lips, her hands instantly returning to his hair, but she had only enjoyed three more kisses before he stopped again.

“Though perhaps we should stop for now,” he suggested, although he made no effort to remove his arms from around her waist. 

Charlotte shook her head, and she knew she was pouting from the amused smile he graced her with but she did not care.

“We cannot be alone here all afternoon,” he said.

This was a valid concern, but Charlotte did not see why they could not enjoy this privacy while they had it. “Do you expect them back soon?”

“Not soon, but...they will have to return eventually. If they find us like this—well, Owen would keep quiet, but Ed loves nothing more than gossip. Betrothed or not, it would not be good for your reputation.”

“Well,” Charlotte said, nodding decisively as she lifted her gaze from his lips to meet his eyes, “you will just have to marry me right away.”

James let out a surprised laugh before resting his forehead against hers. “I’ll get a special license.”

Charlotte laughed, full of mirth. “Your father will be happy.”

“I think we have talked enough about my father for one afternoon,” he said seriously.

“Yes, James,” she replied, before melting back into his embrace.

If it was improper for Charlotte to be kissing him stood against his desk, it was far more improper for her to find herself in the position she did shortly thereafter, squeezed in by his side in his desk chair, his arm around her back and her cheek tucked against his chest.

But they had not done anything more than kiss—she was not so unscrupulous as that—and Charlotte decided embracing her real fiancé in private could not be any more scandalous than what they had been pretending for so many weeks.

“May I ask you a question?” Charlotte asked, her fingers playing with the ends of his blue necktie.

“It is not to participate in another scheme, is it?”

“No,” she laughed, burying her nose in his neck.

She heard the smile in his voice as he said, “Then you may ask me anything you like.”

“When did you know you loved me? Really?” she asked, looking up at his face.

He had just been looking down very fondly at her, but he glanced away to answer this question. “I couldn’t say when I knew for certain, but…I know I first started to think of you that way after the night you came for dinner with father and I.”

Charlotte gasped. “So soon! But how did you know then?”

“I thought how nice it was having you there at dinner and afterwards when we were speaking alone. The next morning, Mrs. Gibbs said how all the servants who had met you remarked what a sweet lady the future mistress of the house was and I felt sad that wasn’t true.”

Charlotte felt sad herself at such a remark but was still shocked that he had known so early and had yet remained silent. “Why did you not say anything all this time?”

“After you had asked me to _pretend_ to be your betrothed?” he replied, his voice rising as much as his eyebrows. “That seemed the clearest sign you did not think of me as a husband. There were a few occasions when I thought perhaps you might, but I did not truly hope until the ball. But then you seemed so embarrassed after the balcony I didn’t know what to think.”

Charlotte frowned, but at her actions, not his words. She could not blame him for being confused over the state of her affections when she had been herself for so long. “Do you think me very foolish, James?” she asked, somewhat embarrassed. 

But he shook his head, his smile still soft. “If you are, I am just as foolish for agreeing to your proposal. And how can I think that when without it, I would never have learnt you are the loveliest creature I have ever met?” he said, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.

Charlotte blushed, tucking her head into his shoulder. “You cannot think that even after I was so angry at Aunt Sophia at the dinner party—and today when I arrived and shouted at you to sit.”

“Especially after that,” he said, laughing. “Your wrath made your eyes look quite lovely.”

She laughed as well, looking up to give him a mock-serious look. “I hope you don’t mean to provoke me in future just to get such a reaction,” she said teasingly. 

James smiled, but unlike the fond looks of earlier, this held a darker edge. His finger traced her jawline as he said, “I hope I may have other ways of inspiring such passion.”

Charlotte flushed, though unlike before this was born more of excitement than embarrassment. And then she gave her proper fiancé a very improper kiss.

Although Charlotte had every intention of seeing through her suggestion for an immediate wedding, when the plan was related to Aunt Sophia the following morning she immediately declared it to be out of the question. “My dear, the scandal!” she exclaimed, her hand on her throat.

“Scandal?” Charlotte repeated incredulously. “To marry my betrothed?”

“To suddenly be married by a _special license_ after being engaged for months! Why, Charlotte—people would think you were,” she held a breath and shuddered before saying, “with child!”

Charlotte could not hold back a roll of her eyes, but even Olivia gasped at her aunt’s dramatic delivery. 

“I am not!” Charlotte said, her vehemence more a result that her own sister might believe it, however momentarily, than at her aunt’s proclamation.

“And I believe you—I know you are a good girl, Charlotte—but think of what other people will say!”

As little store as Charlotte might have put in what people would say of her, she did not wish to impact upon Mr. Stringer’s aspirations. As a result, the wedding was set for four weeks hence—the three weeks required for the reading of the banns and one additional week, conceded after much insistence from Aunt Sophia, to make certain the day would be carried off in the best manner possible. 

Despite this concession made to propriety, it was still impossible to fully satisfy everyone on the wedding day. Mr. Beaumont said to his wife, not for the first time since they had received the wedding invitation, what a shame it was her cousin was marrying a man below her station, while Charlotte’s sister-in law Mrs. Margaret Heywood found the church where the ceremony took place to be sorely lacking in comparison with that of her husband’s parish. And, despite all Aunt Sophia’s tireless efforts in planning the wedding, she sat through the entire ceremony—including the very tenderly spoken vows that brought tears to so many eyes—with a sour look on her face, thanks to her brother-in-law choosing the previous night to announce his engagement to one Mrs. Agnes Brown

But since the married couple were so truly happy, they did not notice any of these dissatisfactions and felt only glad that they had waited until the Heywoods could share in their joy, which they and all their other friends and family did. 

There was to be no bridal tour until after the building was completed, but though her mother and aunt lamented this circumstance, Charlotte had no complaints. On the first Monday morning after her wedding, Charlotte straightened her husband’s jacket as they readied to leave, letting her hands linger over his pocket where her ribbon was tucked inside his handkerchief. 

“Nervous?” James asked, noticing her hesitance to leave the safety of the bed-chamber.

“No,” came her immediate reply. “Well,” she corrected, knowing there was no sense in blustering in front of James—her husband. “Perhaps a little.”

He brought her fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to them. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s hardly your first day at the office.”

“But it is, in a way.”

James smiled reassuringly. Then he took her hand and they went to work together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who’s been following this fic. 😊 When I started I really didn’t know if anyone would be interested in any more content for them, especially one that went away from canon a bit more, and I'm so glad some of you were. I’ve really enjoyed writing this AU and I’m actually planning on doing a short follow-up!  
> About halfway through writing I had an idea for a later afterword but it would have required a ratings change (for smut oops) so I decided to stick with what I had originally planned and follow it up with a little oneshot later. I’ve sent this up as a series so if you’re interested in reading that you’ll be able to find it in the series later.
> 
> Until then you can find me on tumblr (the post for this fic is [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/190935864328/borrow-my-heart-sanditon-fanfiction-charlotte)), feel free to say hi. 😊  
> Stay safe and well everyone!💕
> 
> ETA September 2020: The follow-up to this fic is now up [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562385)! Also if you'd like to weigh in on what I'm thinking about writing for them next you can see my longfic plans [here on my tumblr](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/629721179662516225/help-me-choose-my-next-longfic).


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